


Until the Ink Runs Dry

by hellosweetie17



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Amicable Animosity, Angst, Bad Luck for Edward, Bonding, Child Death, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Horror, Humor, Ink Pens, Love, M/M, Murder, Revenge, Serial Killer, Slow Burn, Soulmate Legends, Whoops for Everyone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2018-10-14 00:58:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10525560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellosweetie17/pseuds/hellosweetie17
Summary: According to legend, everyone has a soulmate.Using a pen passed on from generation to generation, the seeker must voluntarily write on the back of their hand in order to make contact with their person on the other end of the Red String of Fate. Once initial contact has been established, an unbreakable connection is formed between the two soulmates. They are each able to feel the other's love, pain, pleasure, and even hunger if a good piece of pie is nearby.Winry and Alphonse are in love with the idea and believe it to be true. In fact, neither can wait for the chance to use their pens. Edward, on the other hand, thinks it's a load of bullshit and one shouldn't rely on stories to determine who they can love. As for Roy, he refuses to even so much as touch the pen left to him by Maes Hughes, believing no one would want a man as broken as he.Whether it be out of hopeless romanticism or the kind of curiosity that killed the cat, what would happen if one were to write on their hand?And when an investigation ensues over a string of murders spread throughout Central, will those bonds last or change under the pressure to catch the culprit?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place four years after the end of the manga. Edward is twenty and Alphonse is nineteen. According to Ed, Mustang's still an old bastard. Roy is finished with his work in Ishval, so he's resumed his position as General in Central. Edward isn't in the military, but he is employed by Roy.
> 
> Thank you to [stargazerlilith](http://archiveofourown.org/users/stargazerlilith) for your wonderful help! :D

“ _Go home, Fullmetal,” ordered General Mustang. “You've done enough.” He picked up a pen and began filling out the report on his desk._

_“Oh c’mon, General! I got the job done, didn't I?” countered Ed. “And stop calling me ‘Fullmetal’.”_

_Sighing, Roy pushed aside his paperwork and looked up at the seething blond, his onyx eyes connecting with molten gold._

_“Yet you still managed to cause havoc,” he pointed out. “I had hoped you’d keep the damage to a minimum. How shortsighted of me.” He smiled and picked up his pen, silently dismissing the young man as he turned his attention back to the forms._

_Ed could feel steam hissing out of his ears._

* * *

Leaning his head against the window, Edward recounted snippets of the annoyingly frustrating argument he had had with Mustang hours before he and Alphonse boarded a train back to Resembool. A scowl appeared when he thought of the bastard’s smug smile and the look in his dark eye, telling him that he knew how to royally tick him off—which Roy did, of course. Fucker. If Ed had had a nice, tall glass of ice cold milk at that moment, he would've thrown the gross stuff in the General’s face. In the blond’s biased opinion, the old man would have deserved it. Ed let out a huff. “Asshole,” he grumbled under his breath. He crossed his arms and sank down in the brown, leather bench seat. “Total bullshit.”

Next to Ed sat Alphonse, who was currently trying to read the book about medicinal plants in his lap. But it was no use. The only thing the poor boy managed to do—while his older brother continued to piss himself off—was read the same paragraph over and over again. Upon hearing Edward’s string of whispered expletives, Al snapped the book shut and shifted in the seat to face his sibling.

“Are you going to mope the entire ride home, brother?” sighed Al.

“Huh? What are ya talking about? I’m just sitting here looking out the window,” Ed scoffed, waving an arm in the direction of the suddenly interesting blur of trees.

Narrowing his amber gaze at the stubborn older boy, Alphonse opened the book and flopped back against the seat, his blond fringe falling in his eyes. “It’s your fault, you know,” he remarked, flipping the pages in search of the place where he left off.

Ed whipped his head to the side and stared at Al. A slight grimace graced his features when his long, sunny-colored ponytail snagged in its hair tie. “Um...Say that again?” he requested, quirking an eyebrow.

“You blew up part of your lab,” the younger Elric nonchalantly stated, turning a page.

“It blew up because one of those bombs Mustang will never use—but asked me to make anyway—exploded,” excused Ed. He crossed his arms and slumped in his spot on the seat.

“I know you finished those bombs weeks ago. Your lab blew up because you were bored,” insisted Alphonse. “You started experimenting with different chemicals to entertain yourself.” He glared over at Ed, who was intently staring out the window. In its reflection, their golden eyes connected. “I know you know how dangerous it is to mess around because you have nothing else to do. General Mustang has the right to be mad. I wouldn't be surprised if he fires you. Then you won't have a lab to blow up and you won’t have access to the library.”

Ed’s jaw dropped and he blinked at the scolding tone in his brother’s voice. Whose side was the little twerp on?

“And you know what, brother?” continued Al. “I'm mad. After everything we’ve been through, I thought you would calm down a bit. You can't just keep blowing stuff up because you feel like it.”

At the rate Edward was going, Alphonse was positive he would have a heart attack worrying over him—or worse, get gray hair. How did he end up with such a stubborn brother? Sure, he loved him. But holy moly! Al finally had his body back. He would like to keep it alive, thank you very much.

“Anyway, you better cheer up before we arrive in Resembool. It’s Winry’s birthday tomorrow and she’ll smack you with her wrench if you show up with a sour attitude,” he added, turning his attention back to the book.

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” muttered the older Elric, leaning his head against the window. He let out a huff of air, fogging up the window before drawing stick figures—particularly ones with Roy Mustang wearing devil horns.

“You're not excited?” questioned Alphonse, his eyebrows lifting in surprise.

“No. I am,” answered Ed. “It’s just—”

“The pen.”

“—that stupid pen. She keeps talking about it. She think it’s gonna work and if it doesn't, I’m gonna get the life beaten out of me. It almost happened the last time Winry smacked me with her wrench,” he paused to huff more warm air against the cool glass. “Plus, her pen’s supposedly been ‘working’ for three years now. Ya think she woulda tried it when she turned seventeen.”

“Between traveling and doing odd jobs for the General, we’ve been gone. Maybe she’s waiting for us to return home before trying it out.”

“Yeah, except nothing’s gonna happen.”

“Oh, come on, brother. It could work! Just imagine: you and Winry, soulmates,” mused Al, his tone whimsical. Sparkles shined in his golden eyes. He found the idea romantic and deep down, he hoped the legend was true.

Edward finished his mural in which The Ol’ Bastard died in the fiery pits of hell before turning to glance at Alphonse with raised eyebrows. “You actually believe in that lame superstition, legend thing?”

“Sure, why not?” said Al, shrugging. “There's more to life than science, you know.”

“I’m pretty sure the stories about those so-called soulmate pens are meant to stop us from having sex before marriage.”

“Brother!” the younger blond hissed between gritted teeth, his cheeks blossoming a shade of scarlet. He slumped down in the seat and covered his face with the open book.

A sly, lopsided smile graced Ed’s features. “C’mon Al,” he teased, nudging the boy in the shoulder. “What did you think was gonna happen after you find your soulmate? You wait until you're seventeen, then write on the back of your hand with that special pen given to you by your parents. And BAM! You’re soulmates. The End.”

“You get married—”

“—and have _sex_.”

“Could you say that any louder?!”

Smirking, Ed cupped his hands around his lips, “AND HAVE— _ow!_ ”

“Will you stop talking?” groaned Al, smacking his idiotic brother in the forehead with the book. “If you keep going, Winry won’t get the chance to kill you with her wrench. I’ll do it. Right now. With this book,” he warned, lifting it above Edward in preparation to strike again if he so much as began his next word with the letter ‘s’.

“Geez,” mumbled Ed, rubbing the new sore spot on his face.

“Anyway,” continued Alphonse, leaning back against the seat, “if it’s so _lame_ , then why do you still carry yours around instead of storing it?”

“‘Cause mom gave it to me.”

“And you're not even the _tiniest_ bit curious about whether or not it works?”

Edward decided to ignore the fact that Alphonse just called him “tiny.” He really wasn't in the mood to get clobbered over the head again. He’ll get the _little_ punk back later.

“You know what they say, Al: curiosity killed the cat,” he remarked dryly. He folded his arms over his chest and propped his legs on the other seat facing them before crossing his ankles.

“That’s never stopped us before.”

“Yeah, you got a point,” chuckled Ed. “If you believe in the legend, why haven't you tried the one Hohenheim left you?” _After the second time he ditched us_.

A pink hue dusted the younger blond’s cheeks. “Well, May isn't quite seventeen yet. Even if she’s not my soulmate, I’d like to entertain the idea that she could be because I plan on asking her to marry me eventually—whether we’re soulmates or not,” he stated. Upon noticing the amusement dazzling in Ed’s eyes, his cheeks darkened.

“That’s why it's a dumbass legend. If we do have one, we have no idea who they are. We might not even meet them or love them after we write on the backs of our hands and the instant bonding thing that supposedly happens that lets you feel what the other person’s feeling.” He clapped a hand on Al’s shoulder. “I say ya forget the lame pen and go for May.”

“If I do, that wouldn't stop whoever my potential soulmate is from writing on their hand first.”

“Like I said: even if you have one, you might not find or love them. If you love May, don’t let some bullshit story tell you any different.”

“Alright, brother. If you say so,” sighed Al.

“Well, duh. We know I'm always right.” Missing the severe eye-roll thrown his way, Ed lifted his arms and stretched. “I’m gonna take a nap. Wake me up when we get to the station,” he yawned, patting a hand over his mouth.

“You can’t go to sleep, now.”

“Uh. Why?”

“Because we’re here, you idiot,” said Alphonse. He closed his book and tucked it in the carry-on bag resting between his feet.

At that moment, the loud sound of the train’s whistle announced its arrival. With its engines blowing white clouds of steam against the tracks and its brakes screeching, the locomotive crawled to a stop next to the boarding gate. Those who had reached their destination clambered out the door, their luggage in tow.

“Aw, man,” whined Ed. Putting his feet down, he stood up, then reached for his bag on the overhead.

“Stop being such a big baby,” chided the younger blond. “You can have your nap when we get to Granny’s.”

* * *

Outside of the open, green-shuttered windows, the sound of Den barking floated in the wind that gently blew through Winry’s hair. Upon hearing a familiar laugh in the distance, that bark changed into one that conveyed the excitement of finally seeing a beloved friend who stayed away much too long.

Putting down her tools and taking off her goggles, Winry grabbed a green handkerchief and wiped the oil from her hands before tossing it onto her workbench. The young woman got up from her chair and ran out of the house onto the front porch. Standing next to the green railing, she placed her palms on the wood and looked into the sunset; in the short distance she could see two young men headed in her direction with an elated Den dancing around their legs.

“Hey guys!” called Winry, cheerfully waving at her two childhood friends.

“Hi, Winry!” shouted Alphonse. He began jogging toward the Rockbell home, his bag swaying against his back. Edward followed closely behind him.

“Hey, Win— _ugh!_ ” yelped Ed as he tumbled to the ground; Den had run through his legs, forcing him to trip and fall. Grunting, he quickly stood and grabbed his bag after he dusted the dirt from his dark olive slacks. Judging from the lack of attention over the mishap, his accident remained unseen. Well, mostly unseen.

“Are you alright, Ed?” asked Winry, struggling to hold back a laugh as she watched the sulking and grumbling Elric limp after his brother. She moved from her spot on the porch and skipped down the stone steps.

“Don't worry. He’ll survive,” piped up Al, smiling brightly.

Once the two brothers were standing before her at the bottom of the porch steps, she yanked them into a fierce hug, which served as a chokehold as well.

“I've missed you guys so much,” she sniffed, tightening her arms around their necks. It was so tight, in fact, that the boys’ heads were centimeters away from being cheek-to-cheek.

“We missed you, too, Win...ry,” wheezed Ed, suffocating under the young mechanic’s embrace. He could feel Alphonse nodding in agreement.

“If you've missed me so much,” she began, taking a step back to glare at the brothers, “then why haven't you called or written?”

Seeing the thunderstorm brewing behind Winry’s eyes, the boys looked at each other. Not good. Ed rubbed the back of his neck while Alphonse looked at the ground, shuffling his feet from side to side.

“Well, we've...uh...been kinda busy, ya know? Traveling and stuff,” explained Edward. He visibly cringed under Rockbell’s scrutiny.

“That is no excuse, and you know it!” seethed Winry, bolts of electricity flashing behind her darkening glare. She lifted her arm and swung it at the two morons. Alphonse ducked, but unfortunately for Ed, he was smacked in the head with the wrench she had been hiding in her pants pocket. The poor soul crumbled to the ground.

“Brother!” exclaimed Al, dropping to his knees. He frantically shook the dying Elric’s shoulders, who appeared to have stars circling above his head. Al took that as a good sign. That meant he was alive, right?

Groaning, the older blond gingerly pushed himself up into a sitting position. “I’m alright,” Edward assured him. Scowling, he gazed up at the blonde. “Are ya ever gonna stop trying to kill me?”

“Nope!” promised Winry, emphasizing the ‘p’ with a pop of her lips. She twirled her trusty dusty wrench between her fingers. “Anyway, are you guys hungry? Granny’s not here right now, but there's stew waiting for you,” she added, watching as Alphonse struggled to lift his recovering brother to his feet.

“Where is she?” asked Alphonse. Once he was sure the older Elric wouldn't tip over, he picked up both luggage bags and swung them over his shoulder.

“She’s out for a night out of town with the girls,” replied the young woman. She turned around to walk back into the yellow house, beckoning the boys to follow.

“Since when does Granny Pinako have a nightlife?” Al asked, stepping across the threshold. He put down their bags then shrugged out of his tan jacket, hanging it on the hook next to the door.

“Actually, I think she has a boyfriend. But I’m not too sure.” Catching the “yuck” expression on the blonds’ faces, she rolled her blue eyes.

“So…” began Al.

“It’s on the stove,” said Winry, grinning at a drooling Alphonse.

He flashed Winry a wide smile and hurried over to the tantalizing food, practically leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Al filled two bowls to the brim with stew, then carefully placed them on the kitchen table and sat down before proceeding to shovel the grub into his mouth at record speed.

Rockbell blinked. “I’m pretty sure he eats more than you do, now,” she muttered to Ed.

“Basically,” agreed the older Elric.

“Aren't you going to eat?”

“Eh, no. I’m sleepy. I’ll get some if Al leaves some for us lowly folk.”

“Oh?” Winry squeaked with surprise. “Well, that’s a first.”

“I know right?” remarked Ed, walking toward the the food bulldozer known as Alphonse Elric. He pulled out chair on the other side of the table and sat down. “Aren’t ya gonna save room for some pie?”

Seeing that the two young men were engrossed in a conversation, Winry took the opportunity to slip away and tiptoe to her room—quickly walking over to her bed. Crouching down, the blonde reached underneath for a box and pulled it close to her knees. She opened the lid and retrieved yet another box that was smaller, thinner, and longer in size—the ink pen. Winry snatched up the writing utensil, then placed both boxes under her bed before returning to the kitchen. The mechanic stood with her back against the wall and peeked over her shoulder around the corner.

“It’s not my fault Winry’s pie is so amazing. You've had it all to yourself for years. Go get your own,” chirped Al, taking another large, heaping bite of homemade pie-goodness.

Chest swelling with pride, Winry beamed. Although she was thrilled the smarter of the two Elrics was immensely enjoying her dessert, there were more important matters literally at hand—other than the need to buy more baking ingredients, of course.

According to her mother, Sarah, whatever she writes on the back of her hand would appear on her soulmate’s, and they would instantaneously bond on an emotional level. She would be able to feel what they were doing at that moment, too. Once again, the scheming blonde glanced around the wall to see what Edward, in particular, was doing: he was simply sitting there, watching his sibling devour the food before him; she briefly wondered where Alphonse put it all.

Turning her attention back to the pen, she examined it. The casing was sleek and slate-gray in color with intricate designs of scarlet roses wrapping around its length. Rockbell nervously chewed on her lip and placed its tip against the back of her left hand. Here goes nothing, she thought before scribbling against her skin. Winry put her both hands down and leaned against the wall, waiting for something to happen. Seconds passed and...nothing. She frowned. Did it not work? Her frowned deepened as time went on and she began to feel a bit heartbroken by the whole endeavour. Was it just a legend after—

Winry let out a tiny gasp and her blue eyes widened. An electrifying warmth washed over her entire body, causing goosebumps to prickle along her skin and the light blond hairs on her arms to stand on end. The drawing on her left hand burned as she felt a connection being formed. As quickly as the sensation began, it ended.

“What?” she breathed, her heart pounding in her chest. She looked down at her hand—the mark was gone.

Before she could give another thought as to what had passed, an odd taste settled in her mouth. Winry smacked her lips together. It tasted sweet...like sugar and cinnamon, maybe? Weird. Shaking away the odd feelings from her body, the young woman stood up and tucked the pen into her pocket. She walked around the wall to head back to the boys.

“Brother…” began Al, tugging on his shirt collar.

“What's up?”

“Did it get really hot in here?” the youngest Elric asked, scratching at the back of his left hand. A bright, feverish blush bloomed on his cheeks.

“No, not really. Maybe you're turning into an old woman. Hot flashes and stuff,” remarked Ed. He ducked when his brother threw a chunk of pie at him.

Hearing their words, Winry stopped dead in her tracks. Did Al just say what she thought he said? If possible, her eyes expanded even further.

The sound of rolling thunder protruding from her belly ceased their conversation. Her face flushed with mortification and she placed a hand over her stomach in an attempt to silence its growling.

Edward looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Someone’s hungry.”

“I can't believe I’m saying it, but I am too,” remarked Al. He cut another slice of pie, then placed it on the plate he slid across the table toward the stunned young woman. “At least I managed to save you a slice of pie.”

A bit of the red dusting Rockbell’s cheeks drained. P...pie?

The boy took another bite and moaned. “You're wonderful at baking. I don't think I could get enough of this. I love the sugar and cinnamon,” drooled Alphonse, marveling in the pie’s delectableness. He honestly believed it could change a person’s life with just one bite.

S...sugar and c...cinnamon? Winry Rockbell blanched.

 _Oh no_.

* * *

Lost in thought, General Roy Mustang sat in a dimly lit bar, drinking another round of scotch—or was it whiskey? He lost track ages ago, but it didn't matter. The goal was to drive himself into oblivion; he was nearly there.

_“You need to slow down, sir.”_

Riza Hawkeye’s words floated in his mind and he huffed a quiet laugh. His subordinate began telling him that months ago, and her advice increased in frequency more often than not. Closing his eyes, he took another sip of the alcohol, relishing in the sting left behind as it traveled down his throat.

_“Settle down, Roy. Get that pen I gave you and find your soulmate!”_

It was another thing he was advised to do so by his friend Maes Hughes before the man was murdered. The sound of his jovial laughter echoed in his ears. Beneath Roy's gloves, his knuckles cracked. He had always insisted that there was no such thing, and if it did, no one in their right mind would want a man such as he.

However, that train of thought never deterred Hughes.

_“They're out there, waiting for you. Just try it. How do you think I found Gracia? Without the pen, I wouldn't have met her and you know what? I wouldn't have our darling Elicia!”_

Years have passed, but he hadn't managed to shake off the pain and emptiness brought on by the Ishval Civil War; losing Maes. Not even the victory at Promise Day brought him any sort of relief. He still saw blood behind his eyes each time he closed it, his nose burned of skin and his ears screeched with dreams.

_“I want you to be happy, Roy. Do it for yourself, and for me.”_

The raven-haired man felt a sudden weight press against his shoulder; it jostled him out of his stupor. He looked over to find a tall woman, with long, light blond hair and bright green eyes. Seeing as he had developed a penchant for blondes over the years, this woman was quite the catch.

“Hello,” he greeted the gorgeous stranger, his voice smooth and his grin charmingly roguish. Roy’s smile widened as he took in the woman’s appearance and the obvious signals she was sending him.

She’d do.

Before Roy knew it, he was stumbling into his apartment in the arms of the woman whose name he’ll never remember. Clothes fell to the floor and they found themselves in bed, the General fiercely laying into the nameless blonde’s body in hopes of forgetting the daily hell he somehow managed to endure.

Caught between the bliss of ignorance and self-loathing provided by the woman beneath him, Mustang hadn't noticed that the hand clutching the headboard of his bed began to sear with a burning message.

* * *

Sprawled on his back with an arm beneath his head and ankles crossed, Edward stared up at the dark ceiling in his bedroom. The moonlight filtering in from the curtains shined into the room; it cast an ethereal glow across his furrowed brow.

As the day wore on, Winry had become increasingly more awkward and shy. The girl was quiet even during the tune-up she performed on his automail leg. Normally, the mechanic would talk nonstop to the point where he would want to bash his head against the wall before forcing himself into a coma by her wrench. There wasn't so much as a peep from her until it was time to say goodnight.

Alphonse didn't help either. The little, snot-nosed brat droned on and on about the beauty of one’s soulmate and how they were bound for eternity. Ed insisted it was a load of shit—which earned him glares that damned him to hell. That ride, Al promised, would begin with the crack to the head that he had threatened to employ while they were on the train home.

Then the youngest Elric poked at him, worming his way into Edward’s mind to the point where his curiosity piqued in such a way, he considered the victory of proving his brother wrong.

So there he was, relaxing in bed with the pen twiddling between his fingers. A sliver of light caught the apple red casing, flickering over the thin, branch-like spiral wrapped around its shell; emerald green leaves attached, hugging close to the vibrant red.  With a sigh, he looked at his left hand, then at the writing utensil. He mentally shrugged. Why the hell not? Edward pressed the tip of the pen on the back of his hand and wrote, “Hey?”

The blond laid there staring at his messy handwriting. Time moved on, yet his words stared back at him. Nothing.

His lips twitched into a slow, victorious smile. _Ha_. He totally knew it, and come tomorrow morning, Alphonse would, too.

Edward let out a quiet chuckle. “Whatta crock of—"

Suddenly, Elric’s words caught in his throat. His golden eyes widened and he gasped, arching off the bed as a pleasure unlike anything he’d ever felt before cascaded along his body and set his nerves on fire. He couldn't stop the loud cry of ecstasy that spilled from his lips as his entire form stiffened and what was, embarrassingly, a climax gave way.

The sweating blond, who was now unexpectedly basking in the heavenly afterglow of the best orgasm he had ever experienced, shot up in his bed and covered his mouth with his burning hand to stifle the heavy pants heaving in his chest.

_What the hell was that?!_

Panicking, the pleasantly satiated Edward Elric scrambled out of bed. Instead of standing, his legs missed the target known as the floor and he face planted on the carpet. He groaned.

“Brother?” called Al, knocking on the door.

“Oh. Shit,” muttered Ed, pushing his tingling body up from the floor. “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…”

“Are you—”

“I’m coming, Al,” replied Ed, his voice husky and laced with a wanton need that was recently quenched. His face quickly scrunched up. Ew. Wrong choice of words. He slowly walked to the door. Opening it just a crack, he peeked through the small gap. “What’s up?”

“Are you alright? I heard you scream,” answered Al, his brow furrowed and eyes filled with concern over his awkwardly-looking brother, whose cheeks were flushed an odd shade of red. “Did you have a nightmare?”

More like an awake, wet dream. “Yeah, I’m alright. Go back to bed. I’ll see ya in the morning, ‘kay?”

“If you have any more bad dreams, wake me?”

“Sure will. Goodnight!” said Edward, politely closing his the door in his brother’s face. Thankfully the sound of the younger blond’s footsteps retreated.

Edward flipped over and leaned against the door. Stunned beyond measure, he slid to the carpet and pulled his knees to his chest. He refused to admit it, but he couldn't believe it. A part of him wished he still had his automail arm so he could punch himself in the face. He looked down at his hand and saw that the message had disappeared. A tiny whimper formed on his lips.

He was in deep shit.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The dumbass incarnate stared across the room, taking in the sight of the trees blowing in the wind against the dark backdrop of the night’s sky; Elric’s cognizant blanked in and out as he watched. He imagined giving himself a swift kick in the rear with his automail leg or stealing Winry’s largest wrench so he could knock himself out over his raging stupidity. With enough force, perhaps the self-inflicted violence would make his new situation miraculously disappear. It wouldn't be the first time a fierce crack to the head solved some sort of problem…

Yet deep down, Edward knew it was a done deal. He was attached to some stranger and there was nothing his assholery could do about it. He could practically hear karma giggling over the whole thing.

With a sigh, the young man looked down at his left hand—the message was still missing in action. On the not so bright side, the area in which he scribbled the lame, “Hey?” still burned. Perfect.

The blond closed his smoldering, lust-filled, golden eyes and dropped his sweaty forehead onto his palm. Elric inhaled a deep breath, then slowly exhaled it. He repeated the exercise in hopes that it would calm his incinerated nerves, which were still crackling in the warm afterglow of (literally) life-changing pleasure. Sucking in another breath of unjustified self-pity, Ed opened an eye to chance a peek at the back of his hand. Nothing. Apparently the message had no intention of returning. The realization caused a childlike whine to bubble past his clenched teeth. “Fuck,” he quietly mumbled as a torrent of questions ricocheted through his thick skull.

Why was he such an idiot? What the hell was he thinking? Why was Alphonse always right? How was his body still reacting to the mind-blowing sex he didn't partake in? What was he hoping to accomplish by using the cursed pen? Well, if he were to be completely honest with himself in spite of the pretty little lies whispering in his ear, Edward knew his reasoning behind that inquiry. His manly pride and the need to prove Al wrong forced his burning curiosity—which never failed to land him in trouble—into action. Thanks to those desires, he was in deep shit. Again. Now he had a brand new best friend. Would he ever learn to listen to his little brother? Probably not.

Wallowing in stupidity, the older Elric pushed himself off the floor. He dragged his feet toward the bed and haphazardly flopped onto his stomach. The pillow he considered suffocating himself with muffled his loud groan. After a few more colorful curses screamed into the innocent bedding, the young man flipped over and stared up at the ceiling. He closed eyes in hopes of drifting off into the land of slumber.

He didn't.

Rather than sleep, the poor soul tossed and turned the entire night. Ed repeatedly wrote inappropriate messages on his right hand; now battered and abused. He switched to his other arm and sketched on its fist. At one point, Edward briefly admired his drawings; he was pretty sure his crude artwork could make even Teacher blush. The mere thought made him inordinately proud. That emotion quickly evaporated once he acknowledged the ass kicking he would undoubtedly receive. Nevertheless, the lack of positive outcomes aggravated him. Yet, in spite of the negative results, Elric continued to fiddle with the writing utensil. He spent hours alternating between extremities, even going as far as scribbling on different parts of his body. Edward did discover something during his acts of desperation: the pen worked mighty fucking fine on the papers now graffitied with arrays. That convenient, little detail pissed him off. It heightened the craving to shove his automail foot up his ass and throw punches. He dearly hoped that whatever bullshit, mystical powers that were behind the yellow pen’s ability would spontaneously combust.

Alongside the need to instigate brute force at whatever stood in his way, the whole ordeal left the poor fool in an unfortunate situation. Or rather, his newfound love life bound him to someone who had an impressive amount of stamina. That left Edward annoyed. And sexually frustrated. He had quite the headache, too. Thus, the oddly sore and defeated Edward Elric laid in bed with his ankles crossed, stuck between a rock and a very... _hard_ place. Obviously comedic karma was his new pal seeing as the crotch-constricting dilemma refused to subside; his attempts to handle it yielded nothing. The virginal blond was sure of one thing, though: his soulmate needed to get themselves together before it was time to roll out of bed. He wasn't in the mood to answer a slew of awkward questions.

Elric’s seemingly endless, painfully aroused state didn't help his migraine, either. During the night, the burning aftertaste of alcohol had settled in his mouth. It was now early morning and Edward could still taste what he believed to be scotch sticking to his tongue. Thanks to that lovely flavor combined with the bright sunlight filtering in from the window, he was experiencing the most powerful, skull-crushing, alcohol induced agony in all of Amestris.

As he endured the consequences of indirect overindulgence on top of his soulmate’s sexual prowess, Edward concluded that he was a horny, hungover-by-proxy, little—no, _fully_ _grown_ —idiot. Whoever this person was, he decided he was going to murder the son of a bitch for leaving him in such a way. At the very least, the young blond would flip him the bird. The man deserved it.

Paying no mind to the soulmate-identifying clue bouncing around in his subconscious, Edward quickly threw the blanket off his legs, then swung them over the bed. Rather than standing, the sheet intertwined with his lower limbs sent him tumbling to the floor. He rolled over and banged his right knee against the bedpost, forcing a painful groan to burst past his clenched teeth. “What the fuck!” hissed Elric, cradling his leg and bruised ego. Damn it! Not only was he in an undisclosed relationship, he was becoming well acquainted with the carpet. At the rate his luck was going, the blond wouldn't be surprised if the floor was the person who supposedly was his one true love.

Grumbling, the moron extraordinaire slowly propped himself into a sitting position, then carefully stood. Once Ed was sure his vicarious, spirits-related illness and wobbly leg wouldn't reunite him with the floor, he bent down and dusted off his black pajama pants. In doing so, he noticed that his pent-up, sexual frustration had finally decided to take a hike. He had that going for him, at least.

Straightening up, the former state alchemist raised his arms above his head, letting out a loud yawn as he languidly stretched. A few vertebrae popped back into place and his stiff shoulders cracked before his upper limbs dropped to his sides. Yawning yet again, the blond took a step forward and approached his bedroom door. When he placed his hand on the metal doorknob and turned it, he let out a harsh breath of air; the angry, red flesh of his abused extremity hadn’t appreciated the action in the slightest. Ed glanced down at it and winced. He needed to figure out a way to conceal his little secret. If his prior hard-on wouldn't have given him away, his hand sure would.

With a click of his tongue Elric turned around and scanned the room in hopes of finding something to hide the problem. His amber eyes zeroed in on the gloves conveniently situated on his bag by the wooden dresser. He quickly hobbled toward the luggage and snatched up the gloves before heading out the door and limping down the hall in the direction of the kitchen. Edward rounded the corner and found Winry at the stove flipping pancakes and frying bacon. The usually heavenly, mouth watering aromas made his stomach churn.

Ed went over to the table and pulled out a chair. The sound of its legs scraping against the wooden floor forced him to close his eyes. His headache wouldn't be thanking him later. “Happy birthday, Winry,” the oldest blond groaned as he plopped down on the seat. He slapped his hands on the table to prevent himself from tipping to the side. The movement caused a faint dizzy spell to wash over him. Once again, he silently told his unknown other half to fuck off.

Winry nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden address of her person. Smiling, she peered over her shoulder at the older Elric seated at the kitchen table. Upon seeing him, her cheerful grin was swiftly replaced with a sympathetic grimace. The young man, in her opinion, looked terrible. There were dark bags beneath his eyes and his tan skin was a ghostly shade of white with the tiniest hue of green dusting his sweaty pallor. His sunny tresses were rumpled and tangled into a high ponytail. “Are you alright, Ed?” she asked, frowning. “You look a bit sick.”

Hungover, more like. Edward glanced up at the blonde mechanic. “Yeah, I’m alright, Win,” he lied, swallowing down the nausea turning in his belly. “Didn't get much sleep.” Understatement of the year. He leaned forward to the platter piled high with bacon and chose an extra crispy slice, then hesitantly took a bite. A soft sigh of relief escaped him when his stomach didn't immediately reject the sacred food.

Rockbell narrowed her blue eyes at the fibbing young man. Seeing as she had her own worries (namely Alphonse) at the moment, Winry chose not to comment any further on the former alchemist’s words. She turned her focus on the pancake in the pan, then scooped it up and flipped it in the air before catching it on the plate containing the other flapjacks.

“Where’s Granny?” questioned Ed, slowly chewing on another piece of bacon.

“She’s not home yet,” responded Rockbell. She poured the last of the batter into the skillet, which quickly began to bubble.

“What the hell is the old woman doing?”

“I’m telling you; she has a boyfriend,” the automail mechanic sighed, flipping the hotcake.

“So gross,” muttered Ed. After the words left his mouth, a gagging sound caught in his throat. He wasn't sure if his body was repelling the food or if the nightmarish idea of Granny Pinako having a sex life made the noise arise. He prayed to the deity he didn't believe in that it was the latter. The blond wasn't quite sure how long he would last if he had to give up bacon—or worse, stew. The mere thought almost sent him into a panic.

Winry rolled her eyes. Using the spatula, she scooped up the last pancake and put it on the plate. She picked it up and walked over to the kitchen table. “You know” she began, putting the platter down, “it’s perfectly fine for Granny to have—” The young woman paused and cocked her head to the side, her brows furrowing in thought. Goosebumps prickled along her skin. She suddenly felt...suspicious? Or was it anxiety? “Huh,” she squeaked. How strange.

“‘Huh’?” echoed Edward, watching the young woman stare blankly at who the hell knew what. “Winry?”

The blonde rapidly blinked away the random sensation and shook her head. “Sorry, what were you saying?” asked Winry as she absently rubbed her forearms.

“Y’kinda zoned out on me.”

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing,” assured Rockbell. Catching sight of a head full of blond hair poke from around the corner, she turned to face the other boy. “Good morning, Al. There’s pancakes and bacon over here if you're hungry.” She pulled out a chair and sat down, then began serving herself breakfast.

“Happy birthday, Winry,” congratulated Alphonse with a quick wave. Receiving a shy, but bright smile in reply, a grin of his own appeared and the tips of his ears tinged a light pink of their own accord.

“C’mon Al, take a seat,” urged Ed, pushing out the chair next to him. Upon hearing the horrendous and unnecessarily loud noise of wood scraping against wood, he firmly squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip to stifle a groan of agony. He truly wished his headache would take a hike. Why couldn't it torture the fucking asshole who gave it to him instead?

The blushing blond remained standing in the doorway. “Brother...I need to talk to you,” he said, shuffling his feet from side to side while he scratched at his hand.

Edward cast a fleeting glance at his sibling, then did a double take. The kid was nervously fidgeting and his sparkling, enthusiastic golden eyes were unusually dull and subdued. A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Are you okay?”

“Heh, yeah. I just really, really need to talk to you,” Alphonse insisted. He gestured behind his back with his thumb, silently telling the other that he would prefer to speak in private. “Please,” he mouthed.

An irrationally angry and fed up Winry, who was observing the entire exchange, slammed down her utensils with a bang, causing the plates and glasses to rattle against the dining table. A powerful surge of overwhelming and protective need to defend Alphonse overcame her. “Go help your little brother, Edward!” she snapped.

Seconds after the spoken command left her lips, Ed whipped his head in her direction with such fierce velocity, she was quite frankly surprised it hadn’t popped off. The former alchemist slowly tilted his head to the side, and what she swore were purple storm clouds misted around his entire form. A maniacal smile spread along his reddening cheeks and white sparks of fury blazed behind his darkening glare. Rockbell braced herself for the older boy’s impending ego-deflating outburst.

“After all these years,” growled the undeniably shorter Elric, his voice loud and feral, “am I still so _SMALL_ , you can't see who you’re talking to? Hm?!”

“Brother—” interjected the taller boy.

“—If it helps, I’m right here,” offered the elder blond sarcastically. He emphasized his location by pointing a finger over his head, which had visible steam hissing out of its ears.

“Brother!”

“Whaddya want Al?!” snapped Edward, seething at the one who should’ve been pint-sized.

“I’m pretty sure she was talking about me!” exclaimed Al, throwing his arms in the air.

“Oh,” the psychotic Elric murmured. To the others’ immense relief, the violet clouds above his head parted and a heavenly light shined down upon him, highlighting his now angelic persona. Ed glanced over at Rockbell and flashed her a dazzling, pearly-white grin. “Sorry, Winry,” he apologized, happily wiggling his fingers at the automail mechanic. The girl simply gaped at him.

Before Edward could say another word and end up on the receiving end of Winry’s wrench, Alphonse snatched the fool up by his shirt and tugged him out of the chair, then proceeded to drag him down the hall toward his bedroom before practically tossing him inside. The boy gently closed the door and pressed his forehead against the cool wood.

“Okay, what's the problem?” asked Ed, rubbing the sore skin brought on by the shirt’s collar chaffing his neck.

Anxiously chewing on his lower lip, Alphonse turned around to face his older brother. “Well…” he began, scratching the back of his head.

The older Elric placed a hand on his hip. “Are ya gonna tell me?” he asked, tapping his automail foot.

Figuring that actions speak louder than words—or in his case, drawings—Alphonse approached Edward and shoved his hand in the other’s face; he just about punched him in the nose. “When I woke up, this was on here!” he exclaimed, his face flushing a painful shade of scarlet.

Taking hold of his sibling’s hand, Ed squinted at the artwork riddled with scratch marks. “Maybe you were sleep-doodling?” he postulated. He ran a gloved finger across the irritated skin. “Sorry,” he murmured when he felt Al flinch.

“No I was not ‘sleep-doodling’,” huffed Al with a roll of his eyes. “And if I were to draw anything, don’t you think I would've drawn a cat or Xiao-Mei?”

Edward tilted his head and lifted an eyebrow. Hmph. True. The kid had a point; he loved kittens in an almost obsessive way. He had lost count as to how many he had found hidden in the various nooks and crannies in their apartment. “Did you try washing it off?”

“No, Ed. I just love having mysterious writing on me,” mocked Alphonse. “Of course I did, you idiot. I tried scrubbing it off with soap and hot water. I even tried alchemy. It won’t go away!”

“What do you think it is?”

“How am I supposed to know?!”

“Well, this one kinda looks like a smiley face and a…” the older Elric paused, his brow furrowing in contemplation. And the other...a tool—a wrench, maybe? Who would draw something like that? Whoever did, he silently thought, definitely needed to take a few art lessons; the picture was ugly as hell.

“Brother...I-I think it might be the pen dad left me,” whispered Al.

Frowning, Edward looked up at Alphonse. “But you said you didn't use it.”

“I didn’t! I mean, what if somebody used their soulmate pen and now we’re connected?”

Ed let go of his brother’s wrist. “Then I guess ya gotta soulmate,” he concluded. Thanks to Al’s mysterious person, they were in the same boat, now. However, unlike his brother, Edward’s seat was bought in gratitude to his Class A dumbass status.

“I thought you didn't believe in it?”

“Uh, I don't,” lied Ed, absently waving the question away. Catching sight of the younger Elric’s questioning gaze, his cheeks heated beneath the scrutiny. The color darkened when he noticed that Alphonse was watching his flailing hand. He swiftly dropped his arm, letting it hang limply at his side.

“Why are you wearing gloves, brother?”

The silence that settled between them was deafening. For a brief moment, Edward could've sworn he heard the cosmic universe laughing at him within the creepy shadows, whispering, “not so fast, buddy” into his ear. He, on the other hand, wasn’t fucking amused. The shorter blond blinked innocently. “Huh, what gloves?”

“I don't know. Maybe the gloves that're on your hands!” mused Al, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Oh, these ol’ things?” squeaked Ed, nonchalantly looking at the clothing accessories. “My hands are cold.”

“It’s summer. Before we left Central, you were complaining like a baby about how hot it is outside. How can your hands be cold?” Alphonse stared at the older boy, whose sizzling cheeks were slowly draining of color. “You look guilty,” he accused, cocking a brow at his fidgeting sibling.

“Nah, I’m good,” hummed Edward, his voice scaling an octave.

“What did you do?” asked the younger blond, crossing his arms.

“Nothin’!”

“Then take off the gloves,” suggested Alphonse.

“Why? There's nothing to see,” countered the more stubborn of the two Elric brothers. He shot the brat a glare of his own, warning him to shut his trap. It didn't work.

A slow, menacing smile—one that appeared to be angelic and tooth-rottingly sweet to the average, ignorant bystander—curved the corners of Alphonse’s lips, his amber gazed boring into Edward’s soul. It was a look that frightened even General Mustang when the situation called for it. “Take. Them. Off,” he demanded through clenched teeth, his hands fisting at his sides.

“Y’know what? I think I just heard Granny come home,” said Edward, motioning a hand at the door. “We should go say ‘hi’.” He moved to step around the younger blond. He retreated with such speed, his long hair whipped the taller boy in the face.

Before the fibber could take another step toward the bedroom exit, Al swiftly turned around and lunged at his brother. He snatched him up by his ponytail, then firmly pulled on the sunny-colored locks. The strength at which he did so caused the former alchemist to be yanked back against his torso which such force, it sent them both crashing onto the floor with a chorus of painful ‘hmphs’.

Quickly recovering from the near backbreaking impact, Al reached for the gloves. “Give them to me!” he hissed.

“Get off me!” growled Edward, childishly batting his brother away. To his dismay, the younger Elric somehow managed to roll on top of him and pin him firmly to the ground. Well, that wrestling match didn't last long. Unfortunately for Ed, their new position allowed Al to grab onto his wrist and remove the glove. He huffed out a frustrated breath of air over his secret’s demise as he felt the white material run along his skin.

Alphonse’s eyes widened in shock. “You used the pen,” he surmised, staring at the irritated skin. He pushed himself off the other and sat back on his heels. “What happened?”

Groaning, Ed propped himself up. “Uh...I was kinda bored and I figured what the hell? So I used it,” he admitted, bashfully rubbing the back of his neck.

“And?” prodded the taller boy.

“Um...it burned a bit, then disappeared,” replied Ed. He decided that Alphonse didn't need to know the embarrassingly sultry—yet delightfully pleasurable—details of the connection establishing, nor the now subsided headache. Its disappearance was a plus.

“Did you feel anything?”

 _Great_. “Nope,” he answered, shrugging a shoulder with much more enthusiasm than necessary.

“Neither did I,” agreed Al. “At least I don't think so. Maybe it's too early to tell.” Letting out a heavy sigh, he stood and held out a hand. “What do we do now?”

“How the fuck should I know?” grumbled Edward, grunting as he was pulled up from the floor.

“I guess—”

“—Good morning, Granny!” came the muffled sound of Winry’s voice floating down the hallway.

Pinako’s reply was inaudible, but her following question was loud and clear: “Where's Alphonse and the shrimp?”

Fuming, the former Fullmetal Alchemist stomped toward the door and flung it open; it hit the wall with a resounding bang, causing the picture frames on the dressers to tip over. “Who the hell are ya callin’ ‘shrimp’ ya pint-sized, old hag?!” he barked at the top of his lungs as he sprinted in the direction of the kitchen.

Shaking his head, Alphonse followed after his hot-headed brother.

* * *

Later in the evening, while he nursed the alcohol-related headache he knew he deserved, Mustang strolled throughout Central Command, stealthily avoiding a particular Lieutenant who adamantly insisted that he return to his desk and promptly complete the growing stack of files that required his attention. Unfortunately, that very person rounded the corner into the hallway in which he walked. On a luckier note, Roy just so happened to pass a men’s restroom at that moment. Shielding his face with a gloved hand, he turned around and slipped through the door. Hopefully he entered unseen—unlike the time where he was hunted down by Riza Hawkeye, who held no compunctions when she entered the water closet, nor did she bat an eyelash as she scolded him while his pants were down for shirking on his duties. He exhaled a pent-up sigh of relief when the door didn't burst open.

Squinting against the painfully bright lights in the latrine, the General let out another breath and approached the nearest sink. He placed both hands on either side of the porcelain bowl and peered at himself in the mirror. He had to admit that he looked rather terrible. His smooth, ivory skin held a ghostly pallor, donned with purplish-black bags beneath his dull eyes; beads of cold sweat dotted his hairline. Roy was grateful that his subordinates hadn't questioned his appearance or the reasoning behind it, though he suspected Riza was aware of the situation. A part of him was ashamed that someone could see such a weak side of him.

The Flame Alchemist took off his white gloves, then placed them on a shelf next to the sink before proceeding to turn on the cold tap water. He leaned down and splashed the liquid onto his face. After another douse of the icy fluid, he turned off the water. He reached into the pocket of his uniform coat and retrieved a gray handkerchief. As Roy utilized it to dry off his chilled skin, he looked into the mirror. Suddenly, the cloth fell from his fingers.

Seconds after he saw its reflection, Mustang flipped his left hand around. “What the hell?” he quietly muttered.

“Hmm...Won’t you look at that! I’d know that terrible handwriting anywhere!”

Gasping, Roy jumped at the intruding voice and firmly closed his eyes; the sudden movement caused a nauseating sense of dizziness to swim within his veiled vision. He took in a deep breath and slowly exhaled it through his nose. The raven-haired man thickly swallowed down the lump lodged in his throat. “Go away.”

“Aw, c’mon, Roy. Are you really gonna talk to your old pal that way?”

The General slowly opened his eyes. In the mirror, stood the phantasmic reflection of his closest and deceased friend standing behind him—the former Colonel Maes Hughes.

“Go away,” insisted Roy. _You’re not real; you're dead_. He silently repeated the mantra. It was one that never worked.

“I haven't seen you for a while,” pointed out Hughes. He pushed up his glasses, which allowed the lights to refract against the lenses. “But don't worry about me. It looks like you have a new problem.”

“And that would be?” asked Roy, picking up the damp handkerchief with trembling hands. As soon as the words left his mouth, he grimaced. He mentally cursed himself for indulging in his hallucinations. He shoved the cloth into his pocket.

Maes looked over Roy’s shoulder. “Well, if you look at your hand…” he urged with a smirk. “You know, I’d bet every picture of my darling Elicia—who is the absolutely cutest thing you've ever seen!—that little blondie is your problem.”

The Flame Alchemist turned on the water and began scrubbing the graffitied flesh. “I believe Lieutenant Hawkeye would be unappreciative of your nickname.”

“Nice try. Don’t play coy with me Roy,” he chuckled. “Judging by the handwriting—which we've both seen numerous times—you know exactly who your new sweetheart is.”

“You're a figment of my fractured mental health and somehow you still manage to be an annoying pest,” grumbled Mustang.

“And you should've believed me when I told you how I found my gorgeous Gracia. I’m the one who’s always right when it comes to the matters of the heart.” Hughes watched as the General flinched during his brazen effort to remove the message from his abused skin. “It’s not going anywhere, so you might as well stop.” He flashed Roy a sparkling grin. “You have a soulmate.”

“It’s a child’s tale. I really don't know how you believe in such nonsense,” murmured Mustang. He paused, then cleared his throat. “Used to believe.” Flushing a bright red at his mistake, he turned off the water and grabbed a paper towel to begin drying his hands.

“If it is, then why won’t your darling’s message go away, hmm?” asked the nerve grinding romantic. When the other man failed to answer the question, Hughes’ smirk widened. “That’s what I thought.”

“Shut up.”

Maes put a hand on his hip, and tapped the fingers of the other against his chin. “I wonder what he’ll say when he finds out.”

“He’ll say nothing because he’ll never find out!” snapped Roy. Judging by the hearts bubbling above the imaginative figure’s head, his words went in one ear and out the other.

Hughes clasped his hands together and pressed them against his cheek. “Roy Mustang and Edward Elric: soulmates,” he gushed.

Choking down a gag, Roy rolled up the soiled, brown paper, then tossed it into a bin before putting on his white gloves. “Leave me be. I don't need you whispering in my ear for the rest of the evening,” he said with one last look in the mirror. Turning away, he approached the door and opened it before exiting the restroom and walking down the hallway toward his office.

“You can't leave me hangin’! What am I supposed to do while you're pretending to fill out paperwork?” whined Hughes, trailing after the alchemist.

“You can always disappear,” suggested the General, his voice significantly louder than he intended. A fellow soldier, whose name he couldn't recall, shot him an odd look as he passed by. Roy nearly flushed. Once again, he scolded himself for encouraging the projection imitating his inner voice. 

“I’ll be quiet, I promise,” whispered Colonel Hughes. “They won’t even know I’m there!”

Mustang was not amused.

To his immense relief, Roy’s personified illusion managed to keep its mouth shut while he entered his office. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Maes sit down on one of the couches. He quietly closed the door behind him, then strolled over to his desk and sat in the leather seat.

Before General Mustang could pick up his pen, his office door opened. Lieutenant Hawkeye entered the room, carrying a large stack of files. Roy winced when the items were dropped onto his desk with an audible thump. He had to consciously prevent himself from leaning away from the hovering blonde.

“Where did you manage to procure yet another pile, Lieutenant?” he asked cautiously.

“I found them behind your radiator, sir. Judging by the date on the top sheet, I assume these are overdue and require your attention.”

“Thank you for your diligence, Lieutenant Hawkeye,” uttered Roy.

“Don’t mention it, sir,” Riza replied with a salute. She shot him a covert glare, one that told him that it told him to complete his work, or risk being at the receiving end of her gun barrel.

The Flame Alchemist glanced at the pile. With a defeated sigh, he grabbed the first folder and opened it. As he read its contents, he picked up his pen with one hand while he absently reached for his coffee mug with the other. He proceeded to take a sip, and when the brew failed to reach his lips, he frowned. Empty again. However, that frown turned into a sly smirk. The lack of available caffeine—which Roy reasoned was required in order to work at full potential—presented the opportunity to escape. If he planned ahead the most optimal way to do so, perhaps he could stash the ridiculous paperwork behind the bookcase in the corner of his office.

“If you’ll excuse me, Lieutenant Hawkeye,” he began, standing up with the coffee mug in hand. Refusing to allow the blonde a chance to condemn him for his actions, he sped toward the door, practically leaving dust in his wake. When he was feet away from the exit, it flew open.

“General Mustang, sir!” saluted Jean Havoc.

“Second Lieutenant,” greeted Mustang. “Is there a problem?”

“Chief, I gotta call from Fuery. He didn't tell me anything, but he said we gotta go downtown where he's waiting for us.”

“Alright then, you and Hawkeye—with me,” ordered Roy. He put the mug on a nearby table, then marched down the hallway with his subordinates in tow. Thankfully, Hughes stayed behind.

* * *

Accompanied by Havoc and Hawkeye, General Mustang stepped out of the black, military issued vehicle and walked toward Kain Fuery, who waited by the corner of an alleyway. The young man transferred the brown grocery bag, as well as Black Hayate’s leash, into his left hand, then saluted his superiors with the other, all of whom returned the gesture in kind.

“Good evening, sir!” said the Sergeant Major. “Thank you for coming.”

“What's the emergency you called into Command?” asked Roy.

“It’s...not pleasant,” informed Fuery, turning around and beckoned for the others to follow down the alley, his shoes splashing against the cobblestone covered in puddles. “I’m not sure how long its been here. If Black Hayate hadn’t sniffed it out, I would’ve passed on by. I called you from the bar around the corner after I saw it.”

The General regarded Riza’s dog, who trotted by Fuery’s side, and briefly wondered why he was accompanying the bespectacled boy.

“What is it?” questioned Havoc, his unlit cigarette bobbing in his mouth. “To be honest, you sounded a bit scared.” A flashed an apologetic smile when Kain looked at him over his shoulder, his expression shy and cheeks pink. “Sorry,” he mouthed to the other.

A few silent moments later, Fuery stopped. Without further explanation, he stepped aside to allow his superiors to take in the scene, gesturing at the corner with his free hand.

“What the hell…?” the Second Lieutenant’s baffled words trailed off into a muttered whisper. His curiosity getting the better of him, Jean made a move to close the distance between he and the corner.

“Don’t step any closer, Havoc,” ordered Roy. He pointed at the ground, bringing attention to the large transmutation circle that slightly glimmered against the orange glow of the setting sun. “That is still active.” Mindful of his footsteps, he cautiously passed by the apologetic blond. Mustang kneeled to the ground and placed the palms of his hands on the edge of the circle; it deactivated with a flash of light. “Now you may approach,” he said, gazing up Jean with raised eyebrows, “without worrying about losing any body parts in the process.”

The four military personnel approached the victim; a harsh silence settled between them as they each got a close look at the deceased before them. Roy felt the tight knots in his stomach frantically twist and turn.

On a wooden box sat a little boy posing with one leg crossed over the other, his elbow propped up by the knee and his chin cradled in the palm of his hand. Spread along his cheeks was what one might assume was a fashioned, amused smile. His red eyes stared blankly into the dusk and his dark skin glistened against the light. The whole thing reminded Kain of a porcelain doll, whose face was peppered with runes he was unable to identify. And on its forehead were written the words, “Flame Alchemist.” The fine hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He could hear the soft sound of Hayate growling next to him.

“S-sir,” stuttered Fuery, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “Do you think someone is targeting—”

“—Hawkeye, when we return to command,” interrupted Roy, “have Sheska contact the Elric brothers. I believe their assistance will prove valuable.

* * *

“I can’t believe the bastard called us back here already,” huffed Ed. He put his elbow on the workbench and observed his sibling, who was outlining a transmutation circle.

“To be fair, Sheska insisted that he said ‘please’, and was very nice about it,” replied Alphonse. He completed the circle, then proceeded to draw the appropriate runes within it.

The older blond mentally rolled his eyes. The smug asshole nice? _Ha_. He would believe that load of bullshit when the sun rises in the West and sets in the East.

“At least it doesn't seem like busy work this time,” pointed out the younger of the two. Finishing up the transmutation circle, he put the chalk in a little container and put it off to the side. Al held out the palm of his hand, silently asking for the largest sample in the petri dish. He put it in the middle of the circle.

Before the former alchemist was able to provide a comment, the sound of heavy footsteps slapping against the lab’s laminate floor approached them. Edward turned his head in the direction of the incoming thorn in his side.

Al leaned back and looked past his brother. “Good evening, General Mustang.”

“And you, Alphonse,” replied Roy. Once he was a foot away from the older Elric, he stopped and glanced down at him. “Fullmetal.”

Edward scowled at the smirking asshole, whose scrutinizing, dark gaze was sparkling with amusement. There was a flicker of something else behind his eyes, one that taunted Ed with the idea that maybe the old man knew something he didn’t. In addition to the wary suspicion provided by Mustang, his presence caused an odd sensation to wash over Elric; it was a feeling he was unaccustomed to and couldn't pinpoint exactly what it was. That pissed him off. But then again, the Flame Alchemist’s mere existence tended to piss him off on a daily basis. “General Bastard,” replied Ed. He watched as the dark-haired man’s smirk widened into an unnecessary flirty smile that was probably supposed to make him swoon. Dream on, pervert.

“Do you have anything to report in regard to the samples that were delivered to your lab?” Roy asked.

“It’s better that we show you,” piped up Al. He waved a hand, beckoning Mustang to stand alongside him.

Following the boy’s actions, Roy watched intently as he placed his fingertips on the rim of the transmutation circle and activated it. As it's gathering energy began to glow, he could see the petri dish within its center rapidly spin. Once the circle was deactivated, the General noticed that the microscope slides at each triangle point filled with different materials that undoubtedly were separated from the previous sample. Roy looked from one young man to the other, raising his eyebrows in question.

Ed sighed. “This right here,” he said, pointing at a particular slide, “is a flexible polymer—plastic or resin—that originally had traces of blood and tissue attached to it.” He stared up at Roy, his golden eyes blazing. “I’m gonna guess this was shoved down someone’s throat and used to suffocate them?”

“And what of the other slides?” the older man asked, ignoring Edward’s own question. He heard the undeniable sound of teeth clicking and grinding.

“The last ones contain skin samples,” began Alphonse, his cheeks draining of color. “They're not the same. One is tainted with a preservation fluid, while the other is simply skin…”

“Alchemy was used to stitch them together. The preserved section overlapped the other. Kinda like a casing. The top layer could've been used to change the appearance of the bottom,” continued Edward. “The victim that's most likely in the morgue is one body, but the other sample indicates either someone was a donor, or they're dead since alchemy was used to create the casing.”

Taking a step back, Roy took a moment to digest the disturbing findings. He swallowed down the gag lodged in his throat. “Is that all?”

“Yeah...that’s it,” answered Edward, his brow furrowing at the nonchalant tone in the General’s voice.

“Thank you gentlemen. If there are any else arises, I would appreciate your assistance. Enjoy the rest of the day,” Roy said, nodding his head. Turning around, he walked away from the brothers.

Edward’s jaw practically clattered to the floor. “Seriously?” he quietly muttered in annoyance. He hopped off the chair, then jogged after the Flame Alchemist.

“Mustang! Will ya wait a second!”

Roy quickly turned around, which caused Elric to nearly run him over. “Is there something you need?”

“Uh, yeah. This is some serious stuff you have us looking at. If you want our help, I kinda wanna know what the deal is.”

“You may have agreed to willingly partake in any situation where your involvement would be beneficial, but that doesn't mean it’s necessary for you to know everything down to the last detail,” Roy clarified.

Seething, Edward angrily pointed at the other’s chest. “Listen here, you bastard,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “I did everything you asked me for years without question. Are you ever gonna stop playing these stupid little games and for once, just tell me what's going on?!”

Before the fuming blond had the chance to say another word, he found himself pressed against the wall. Next to his head, Mustang slapped his palm on the white plaster; the loud sound caused him to unwillingly flinch. Elric gazed up at the older man, his golden eyes blazing with fury as he watched Roy lean down, which left very few precious inches between them. Apparently the fucker had no idea what “personal space” meant. “What are you doing?” he growled.

The General looked him up and down in a predatory way; the action forced butterflies to annoyingly flutter—which pissed him off to no end—in his stomach. “Hmm…” hummed Roy. The sound was low, and in Edward’s opinion, creepily and attractively sultry. He hated it. “I’m surprised you haven't figure it out, yet.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” muttered Ed, his hands fisting at his sides; he was amazed that the knuckles didn’t break off. But then again, they might be needed to knock some lights out.

“You and I have been playing a dangerous game for quite some time, now,” the alchemist pointed out.

Mustang tilted his head to the side and breathed into his ear, the warm air tickling its shell. To his annoyance, Edward’s face immediately flushed of its own accord a scarlet so deep, it could've scorched the sun. It was a wonder as to how the heat protruding from his cheeks didn't singe the geriatric pervert’s hair.

“Do you even know what you're getting at? If you're having trouble, there is help for old people,” offered Ed, inadvertently whispering into the General’s ear. Feeling the curve of the other’s skin against his own told him that the asshole was smiling. The soft contact caused his searing cheeks to tingle. Whatever the hell was happening, Elric truly preferred it go bother someone else.

“Perhaps now the relevant question is: who will make the final move?” Mustang murmured. Deciding he was done with the taunting antics, he leaned back and smirked at the blond who was—to his ego-boosting and playboy delight—blushing from head to toe.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“My dear Fullmetal,” muttered Roy, practically purring the young man’s prior title in an almost endearing way. “I believe it’s your turn.” He stepped away, and with what he believed was his most charming grin, winked at Edward just for the hell of it. “Enjoy your evening.” And without another dirty hint, he turned around and strolled down the hallway toward his office.

Edward stood there, gaping at whatever the fuck just happened. In all his fury, he whipped around and stomped in the lab’s direction.

“Brother, what happened?” asked Alphonse, holding back a wince as a red-faced Ed stampeded through the swinging door.

“Get your stuff, Al,” ordered the shorter blond.

“...are we going somewhere?”

“Yeah,” replied Edward. “We’re gonna go break into the old bastard’s office.”

“We're what?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Hughes' presence seems a bit odd...think of it this way:  
> Those who can't find peace amongst the living tend to find comfort amongst the dead.


	3. Chapter 3

Slinging the strap of his brown leather messenger bag over his head to shoulder, Alphonse sped out of their highly and cleverly secured laboratory after his fuming older brother, his black shoes wildly squeaking against the floor as he caught up with the other at the far end of the hallway. Thankfully, he managed to quickly fall into stride with the agitated footsteps of one whose main purpose was to seek revenge and wreak havoc. Even though the teen had pretty good idea as to who stirred such a reaction in Edward, he inwardly pitied the man.

“What did he say?” the taller blond asked, not-so-subtly casting a worried, sidelong glance in his brother’s direction. Alphonse had to hold back a wince when he saw the peculiar expression on Edward’s face; it was one he has yet to see (who knew?) and preferred to never lay eyes on it again. By golly did the teen hope that the evening wouldn't result in having to bail the shorter sibling out of jail.

“What did who say?” countered Edward, his eerily chipper tone feigning ignorance in regard to the alchemist who shall not be named—that damned Flame Alchemist.

While they walked, he made a conscious effort to shove whatever the hell he had experienced during his encounter with the bastard into the darkest and farthest corner of his mind. Regardless, the pink hue of betrayal burning his cheeks was a painful reminder of the wall; and the fluttering butterflies; and the man’s captivating voice; and the ‘I know something you don’t know’ glimmer in the asshole’s stare; and his stupid roguish smile. He should've knocked the fucker’s teeth out when he had the chance. And upon realizing all the thoughts that had just bounced around in his thick skull, he should probably punch himself as well for thinking such lame things about the old pervert. Where were they coming from, anyway? It was probably a good time to lay off the coffee.

Alphonse suppressed an eye roll. “Stop acting like a stubborn idiot,” he chided. “What did General Mustang tell you?”

General Mustang, who?

“What the jerk always tells me: a whole lot of nothing,” huffed Ed, completely unaware that he was inadvertently glowering at the soldiers weaving amongst their fellow comrades in the hallway. Those who so happened to catch sight of the fury gleaming in his amber eyes turned away. It was for their own good when the former alchemist was on the hunt for a specific target.

The Elrics turned the second corner on the left in order to continue on in the direction of the stairwell. In their haste, they ran into an unsuspecting individual. The collision resulted in a surprised yelp, followed by the sound of overfilled files crashing to the floor.

“I’m sorry!” squeaked the bespectacled brunette, dropping to the floor. She scrambled on her hands and knees for the scattered papers.

Edward crouched down for the items closest to him, while Alphonse picked up the others that had drifted down the hall.

“Nah. It’s our fault, Sheska. We weren’t paying attention to where we’re going.” The older Elric stacked his collected sheets into a pile as neatly as he could in his impatient state, then stood with them carefully tucked in his arms. “Al and I will help ya fix this,” he added.

Alphonse returned moments later with a similar heap of his own, a guilty tinge brightening the tips of his ears. He shifted the papers into his left arm and held out his free hand to the young woman. “I’m sorry,” he apologized with a frown.

Sheska took hold of the teen’s proffered hand, letting out a muted grunt as she was pulled to her feet. She pushed up her round glasses and smiled brightly. “It’s alright guys. You don't have to help organize them. I can do that much faster than you two combined, but can you help me carry them?”

“Sure. Which way ya headed?” asked Edward.

“I’m going back to the General,” responded the brunette secretary. Lifting her leg, she kneed the large pile in her arms to secure a better grip. She shook her head when the boys stretched out their hands in a silent offer to take the files. Sheska flashed them a reassuring smile, then proceeded to walk in the direction of the lift that led to Mustang’s office.

“You’re here pretty late,” remarked Ed, while he and the teen trailed behind her. “The General isn't workin’ ya to death, is he?”

The young woman peeked over her shoulder. “He’s not,” she promised. “He sent me to get these files a few hours ago...but I kind of got lost in the reading material while I was looking.” The faint laughter that spilled from the boys’ mouths caused a giggle of her own to sound in the crowded hallway.

As they went about their business, a light conversation ensued between the three of them, and before either noticed, they were in the lift. Its doors closed, then ascended to the fourth floor after Alphonse requested the desired destination. Moments later the compartment box stopped, then opened; each cautiously stepped out. The trio strolled toward the Flame Alchemist’s office, and approached his crew of men lounging at their individual work spaces.

"Hey guys," shouted Edward, waving at those comprising of Roy’s team. Alphonse followed suit in his brother's actions with a wave and friendly smile. The Elrics received a chorus of various greetings in return.

On his way to Sheska's desk, the older Elric passed by Breda and did a double take; he backpedaled and moved to stand behind the redhead, then peeked over his shoulder. A luminous and evil grin split his face. "You shouldn't be lookin' at dirty magazines while on the job, ya know,” he spoke in hushed tones. "What if Lieutenant Hawkeye sees it?"

Heymans cringed. Edward’s harsh warning of being caught due his own desperation crashed down on him and he silently cursed himself. He knew he should've grabbed something else to entertain himself with when he realized the magazine’s contents. However, the only thought he had at the time of his rash choice was to escape Jean’s rambling over a girl. Again. After all, there was only so much a man could take. The rotund redhead glanced at the cover of the magazine (which he disguised with a false picture of an advertisement for shogi) then regarded the blond out of the corner of his eye. "Is it really that obvious?" he murmured. Deciding that he preferred to live, Breda closed the inappropriate reading material before tucking it safely into his bag.

"Nah," promised Ed in a whisper. "But if she somehow does see it and shoots you, I'll miss you. Maybe you should burn it just in case." Straightening up, he trotted over to the young woman’s desk and placed his stack of enveloped papers next to the others. The blond turned around and upon spotting a desk occupied by Alphonse next to the window overlooking the city, he walked toward it and sat on its edge. He crossed his arms and legs. “What are you guys up to tonight?” he asked, looking at the others in the room.

A still pale-faced Breda shook his head and shrugged in a nonchalant admission of an evening free of any sort of activity. He was in for a boring and dateless, night. Perhaps he wouldn’t burn that magazine, after all...

Havoc, who was leaning back in his chair with his feet propped up on the desk, beamed. “Once the Chief dismisses us, I’m gonna head out to a bar,” he responded, his unlit cigarette bobbing in his mouth.

“What about your date?” piped up Alphonse. “You've been bragging about it for the past two weeks.” Jean aside, the entire room would wholeheartedly agree that those fourteen days had been an excruciating drag.

“Yup!” confirmed the blond bachelor, nodding his head with enthusiasm. He opened his mouth to boast (again), but when he noticed the ‘don’t you dare’ glares from the others, he covered his unspoken words with a fake yawn. His brow furrowed at the hushed sounds of relief blowing about the room.

Edward glanced at Fuery, who was turned away from the group. “Hey, Kain,” he called, “are you doin’ anything fun?”

“Oh!” the bespectacled Sergeant Major squeaked in surprise, jumping at the sudden address of his person. He put down the radio wires and plugs, then swiveled in his chair. Fuery flashed a kind smile and pushed up his glasses. “Well, I'm waiting to go home with Riz—” the young man paused, his eyes widening a fraction as he blushed over the near compromise of forbidden intel.

“The Lieutenant let me take Hayate out for a walk earlier today. It was much faster to take him home versus rushing to her apartment before the lunch hour finished for the day,” he fibbed, with a timid grin. Taking note of the cocked eyebrow and knowing, skeptical expression on the former alchemist’s face, his cheeks darkened. Thankfully, the older Elric made no indication that he planned on commenting on the lie, though his eyes did sparkle with merriment. Kain exhaled a soft “whew” when the others paid no heed to his slip of the tongue. That was a close one!

“That sounds like it could be a good time,” mused Edward.

The noise of a creaky door opening, then closing caught his attention and he glanced to the other side of the room to find the Flame Alchemist and Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye exiting his office; the two soldiers were engrossed in a muted conversation as they approached their fellow comrades. Edward shifted on the desk in an attempt to focus on the not-so-beautiful scene of the city on the other side of the window. Despite his attempt to avoid drawing the geriatric jerk’s attention to himself, Elric could detect the man’s lecherous gaze boring into the back of his head.

Taking note of the feverish blush dusting Edward’s pallor and the abrupt change in his behavior, Alphonse’s brows furrowed in concern. He reached out and tapped on his brother’s knee; the action resulted in a subtle jolt. “What’s the matter?” the teen muttered, glancing up at Ed.

Grinning, the older blond waved his sibling’s worries away. “Nothin’,” Edward mouthed, lying through his teeth. After he conveyed the dishonest words, his widening smirk faltered when Al’s signature ‘you can’t hide anything from me, brother’ smile appeared. At that moment, Ed desperately hope that the universe was in a good mood rather than its usual ‘let’s throw the poor idiot under the bus’ attitude. He wasn’t looking forward to whatever the teen had in store for him in the near future. Maybe if luck were on his side, a diversion would occur, thereby allowing him the opportunity to make a hasty exit before his fate was sealed.

As if on cue, Roy fortunately—or, in Ed’s expert opinion, unfortunately—stopped walking and stood in the center of the clustered desks. The noise of chairs scraping against the floor was followed by the dutiful salutes and chorus of respectful “sir’s.” Once the old bastard began addressing the crew, Edward muted his voice by zeroing in on the colorful bug crawling on the other side of the window. It wasn’t the most exciting distraction, but he would take what he could get.

The older Elric let out a quiet sigh. Does this old man ever stop talking?

"...Well, ladies and gentlemen, you are dismissed," Roy announced, his gaze scanning the room. "Enjoy the rest of your evening."

  
In the window’s reflection, Ed saw the salutes acknowledging the Flame Alchemist’s order. He watched as each soldier collected their belongings, then shuffle down the hallway toward their freedom. The blond glanced down at his brother...and found a fucking empty chair flaked with the dusty remnants of a hurried escape. Edward's mouth dropped in disbelief. The little twerp ditched him! “You gotta be kidding me,” he scoffed.

“I’m not one to tell jokes,” informed the deep voice behind him.

Elric almost jumped out of his skin at the unexpected sound. Luckily, he managed to swallow the surprised exclamation on the tip of his tongue. Glowering, he looked up at the window, only to discover the gorgeous perpetual thorn in his side peering at him through its reflection.

“You're not funny, anyway,” retorted Ed. It wasn’t his best comeback, but it would do under the current circumstance...or maybe not, if he were to consider the expression on Mustang’s face and whatever was flashing behind his dark eyes. After a few, annoyingly pounding heartbeats, Edward began to squirm under the man’s intimate scrutiny. What was the old bastard ogling at? And why was he still here?

Mustang tilted his head to the side, a mischievous smirk spreading along his ivory cheeks while he observed the flushing young man fidget on the desk. Through their bond, Roy could sense the hellraiser’s (who was still oblivious to what he believed to be as plain as day) temper flaring, as well as the need to _'shove his automail foot up the pervert’s ass’_. Roy wondered how the young man would react if he were to voice his thoughts. He considered doing so, but realized that he preferred to simply leer at Edward instead. Unbeknownst to the other, it wouldn't be the first time he had done such a thing over the recent years.

Deciding he had had enough of their little staring contest, the blond spoke up, practically sneering at the man, “Don’t you have a nursing home to get back to?” When the handsome—no, creepy—General made no motion to move in response to his serious question, Ed waved his hand. “Uh, hello?”

After one of the many slights to his age, the Flame Alchemist pondered whether or not it was time to test the waters. There was no harm in trying as long as he tread carefully, correct? He aimed to find out how far he could go before he did, indeed, end up with Elric’s foot in his shapely derrière.

Mustang cleared his throat, then smiled a smile brimming with seductive admiration. “Pardon me,” he apologized, waving his hand at the boy in an all encompassing gesture as he studied him from head to toe. “It seems that I found myself distracted by someone I conclude to be aesthetically pleasing to the eye.”

The expression on the former alchemist’s face was priceless. Roy was quite frankly disappointed that he didn't have a camera on hand to capture the rare moment; the picture would’ve been a nice addition to his taunting arsenal. It was an amusing sight.

“W-what the hell did you just say?” sputtered Ed, his face brightening in mortification.

Roy cocked an eyebrow, his lips twitching with mirth. “I said—”

“I know what you said!” snapped the blond, his hands fisting at his sides. Edward heard the satisfactory sound of his knuckles cracking. They were primed and ready to show the bastard what he was made of. He hopped off the desk, then whipped around to face the General. Ed glared daggers at the pervert, his molten gaze willing the man to spontaneously combust.

“Then are you incapable of accepting such a wonderful and flattering compliment, Fullmetal?” Roy teased, blinking as innocently as the angel all of Amestris knew he wasn't.

“You really need to get over yourself,” the blond scientist suggested. He folded his arms in an effort to keep his hands to himself before he end up choking the hell out of the old man. “And it’s Ed.”

“I merely speak the truth,” insisted the Flame Alchemist, shrugging his shoulder.

The young man’s mind was made up. He was going to jail for attempted murder.

Glaring at the cocky son of a bitch, Edward opened his mouth to warn the bastard to get ready for the ass whooping that was long overdue, but rather than let loose what was coming to the man on death row, his jaw snapped shut; the award winning insults he had been saving for a later date dramatically died on his tongue. If it wasn’t for the odd look in Mustang’s eyes interrupting his train of thought, he was positive his pent-up string of expletives would've won some sort poetry battle. So, instead of verbally socking him where it hurts, Ed simply stood there like a fool, peering up at his former commanding officer.

During the second round of their impromptu staring contest, Edward slowly felt an array of emotions pushing back against his own. The fury he had been protruding—though he was still pissed off a fair amount—was easily nudged into a corner by the playful and flirtatious touch of not-so-innocent teasing. He actually had the urge to laugh. That was most likely insane, to say the least.

In addition to the possibility that he was losing his mind, Elric detected something that has been buried for far too long, and the accompanying curiosity as to whether or not it should be acted upon. It was akin to adoration and what he deduced to be a forbidden desire that tiptoed along the line of sensuality; the lustful discovery seared his cheeks with the fiery passion of a thousand suns. The color darkened when Edward finally took note of the glittering amusement gleaming in Mustang’s hooded gaze. Great.

Delighting in the unusually shy and awkwardly, hot-headed (not to mention silent) Edward Elric, Roy’s playboy and swoon-worthy grin widened. “Have I said something wrong?” he asked.

When Ed heard the not-so-clever—or attractive—as-he-thinks-he-is Flame Alchemist’s question, an annoyed scowl etched itself across his forehead, his hands flexing with the itch to wrap themselves around the raven-haired man’s neck and strangle him to death. Yet, the blond somehow managed to hold back. He was about to tell Roy, “hell yeah, you stupid dumbass,” but was interrupted by a loud sound coming from the hallway. The two men looked to their respective sides and saw Alphonse slowly strolling toward them at a leisurely pace. He sure was taking his good ol’ time, Ed silently grumbled.

Roy turned his attention back to Edward, who was stubbornly glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “I guess this ends our little soirée. Such a shame, really,” he remarked. Mustang took a step to leave, but with one last tantalizing comment in mind, he stopped mid-stride. His gaze flicked over to the former alchemist’s, their eyes connecting.

“And by the way, Fullmetal,” he murmured with a lecherous smile, “you needn’t worry. I don’t mind the prospect of oral asphyxiation under the right circumstances—and by your talented hands no-less. I do believe it could be quite...exhilarating.” He then winked the sultriest of all winks, practically clapping himself on the back at the scarlet blossoming on the stunned young man’s cheeks and gaping jaw.

Galavanting in his success, General Mustang resumed his journey, bidding the youngest Elric good evening in passing.

Closing the distance between he and his brother, Alphonse came to a halt a few feet in front of the other. “Sorry it took me so long to get back,” he apologized, scratching the back of his neck.

Edward put a hand on his hip. “I can't believe you left me with that jerk!” he complained, furiously tapping his foot while his free arm waved around in the air, gesturing at nothing in particular. “Where the hell did you go anyway? You just disappeared.”

Oh, crap! “Well...I, um. I-I heard someone say something about kittens! And how they're looking for homes,” Alphonse replied, lying through his teeth. When the older blond shot him a skeptical look, he smiled sweetly. He felt a twinge of guilt for bending the truth, but when the General—who had been eyeing a certain someone (brother)—excused his crew for the day, Al had seen an opportunity and seized it.

“For the last time, Al: you're not getting a kitten,” sighed Ed, unknowingly buying the lie.

“Fine…” relented the younger Elric, a childish whine mingling in his tone. In spite of the need for a cover story, he honestly did want an adorable little pet. And the teen would get one, even if it was a profit over brotherly blackmail.

Edward stretched an arm out for his angelic brother, and clapped his hand on the other’s shoulder. “C’mon, we got some snoopin’ to do.” Receiving a nod in response, he reached up into his thick, honey-colored hair and pulled out the two hairpins that were hidden beneath the hair tie securing his long ponytail.

“Uh, where did you get those?”

Ed shrugged. “I borrowed them from Winry,” he replied, straightening out the pins. With the lock picking tools in hand and little brother in tow, he went over to the door and crouched down.

The teen watched while his older sibling slid the pins into the lock and began twiddling them. “How many places are you breaking into when I’m not around?”

Twisting around, Edward looked up at Al. “Everyone needs a hobby,” he stated with a wicked grin. He faced the door and resumed working it open.

Alphonse moved to stand behind the other, peeking over his head to watch him work. “Wouldn’t it be faster for me to transmute it?

“Where’s the fun in that?” countered Ed, wiggling the hair pins. After another twist, they finally rotated and the lock clicked open. “Ah-ha!” he whooped triumphantly. Still kneeling, Edward bent the pins back into their original shape, then placed them back into his hair. He stood and looked over shoulder at the teen, his smile smug. The former alchemist turned the knob and entered the office, its door creaking loudly. Both entered the room; Edward headed straight to General Mustang’s desk while Alphonse went to the file cabinet.

Making himself comfortable on the old bastard’s leather chair, Edward leaned to the side and pulled on the drawer to his right; it wouldn't budge. Once again, he removed the hair clips and worked the lock open; it clicked, allowing him entry to its contents.

“What did the General say to you?” asked Al, flipping through the row of folders. “You were upset before we left the lab.”

“He was saying some crazy stuff,” the older brother replied, rummaging through the drawer.

Finding nothing in the first storage box of the metal cabinet, Alphonse closed it, then moved on to the second. “Like what?”

“Well, ya know, Mustang. I’m pretty sure he doesn't know what he’s talking about half the time,” mused Edward. He pulled out a particularly interesting black book, then placed it on the desk before skimming through its pages. The thing was full of women and women, and even _more_ women. The young scientist fleetingly wondered how the jerk had time for them all—and why did he feel jealous?

Before putting the item back in the drawer, he reached for a pen in the cup holder on the desk. On the next blank page, he drew a nice piece of artwork for the raven-haired man to find; it was probably one of his better masterpieces: Mustang with horns and that awful mustache he thankfully got rid of. After a quick bout of admiring his drawing skills, Edward returned the book to the drawer.

The younger Elric looked over his shoulder at his brother, observing with narrowed eyes as the other shuffled through the storage compartment. “Will you just spit it out?”

Edward stopped his treasure hunt, and looked up at the teen. “Geez, fine. He was going on about some bullshit about playing some dangerous game. I have no idea what the hell he’s going on about. Crazy old bastard,” he surrendered, lying through his teeth yet again. He resumed his illegal search. After a few minutes of careful foraging, and coming up with zilch, he slammed the drawer shut. “Damn it! He always keeps the good stuff in this drawer. Did you find anything?” questioned Ed, looking at the teen’s crouched form.

Alphonse closed the last metal storage container at the very bottom, then stood from his knees and dusted them off. “No,” he sighed, strolling toward the desk. “Wait,” he said, shooting his sibling a confused look, “how do you know where he keeps ‘the good stuff’?”

“Uh…” muttered Ed, scratching the back of his head.

“You’ve done this before,” accused Al.

“Like I said: everyone needs a hobby,” insisted the shorter sibling, nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders as he flashed a mischievous grin.

“Great,” huffed the teen. “Well, now that we’re done breaking the law—”

“—it’s not like we haven't done it before,” interrupted Ed. He stood from the chair, then pushed it beneath the desk.

“Let’s just get our stuff and leave.”

“I think,” began Ed, stepping around the workbench, “I’m gonna go hunt him down.”

Alphonse shot him an incredulous, accusatory glance. “Are you going to break into his home, too?”

Edward walked past the teen toward the door, placing his hand on the knob and twisting it as he spoke. “No, ‘cause he's not at home; he’s at Madam Christmas’,” blurted Ed, his knowing voice firm and resolute. He froze after the words left his mouth, his amber eyes widening in shock. What the...

“How in the heck do you know that?” asked the younger blond, approaching his brother from behind.

 _No_ _idea_. “Uh...mother’s intuition?” guessed Ed, staring at the door handle. The former alchemist felt his cheeks heating while suspicious dots connected in his mind; he swiftly squashed those ridiculous ideas.

“Mother’s intuition,” mocked Alphonse.

“Yep!”

“Meet me back at home when you're done. Winry’s coming tomorrow and I don't want her to beat me if you don’t show up.”

* * *

Outside in the cool air, Edward hurried through the traffic heavy streets of Central City, bypassing lively patrons while he made his way to Madam Christmas' club and brothel. Once he was standing outside its entrance, the blond opened the door and strolled into the club. He stepped into the crowded area, then took a moment to scan the place until he found Mustang seated at the bar. He weaved amongst the patrons, tripping over numerous feet as he passed by those knee-deep in drink and others who were pursuing their latest conquests.

A few moments later—as well as ignoring a few attempts at those trying to catch his eye—Elric stood behind the Flame Alchemist. He took a moment to study the man; it was the first time Edward had seen him in something else other than his military uniform. Roy was wearing dark slacks and a white dress shirt donned with a form-fitted, silky, navy blue waistcoat. While he ogled the man up and down, Edward's traitorous subconscious hinted that he found the outfit (Mustang) quite attractive. The earlier thoughts he had of himself losing his sanity slipped to the forefront of his mind. At this point, he wouldn't be surprised if he were indeed going off the deep end. The blond's inappropriate marveling was interrupted when he caught sight of Madam Christmas staring at him from the far end of the bar.

"Roy-Boy," she called, sauntering toward her nephew, who glanced at her over the rim of his glass. Chris gestured with her chin at the young man standing behind the pleasantly buzzed Roy. "Your little friend is here."

With a curious expression, Mustang put down his glass of scotch and turned around to find golden eyes boring into his own. A licentious, lopsided smirk twitched at his lips. "My dear, Fullmetal. What a wonderful surprise," he teased, loudly speaking over the crowd.

Ed placed a hand on his hip and let out an exasperated huff of air, his blond fringe blowing against his forehead. "It's Ed, you jackass."

Grabbing his drink, Roy swiveled on the bar stool to face his oblivious other half. "Other than to enjoy my company, what brings you to Madam's?"

This time, Elric's brain interjected before the 'you' that was on the tip of his tongue decided to escape through his teeth. "Well, ya kinda pissed me off when I asked you about the samples, so I'm here to kick your ass." Which, in part, was true.

Roy put an elbow on the edge of the bar, settling his cheek against his closed fist while he took a sip of the scotch. "And how did you know I was here?" he asked, his words faintly slurred.

"My 'a bastard who needs an ass whooping' senses were tingling."

"And here I thought you missed my company," the General remarked, smiling behind his glass of alcohol. The horrified look on the former alchemist's face nearly made him choke on his beverage.

Edward folded his arms. "You wish."

Mustang slid off the bar stool with a slight slip of the feet, then leaned in to speak into the young man's ear. "What would you say if I did?" he whispered, his breath blowing through the blond tendrils cradling Ed's ear.

"I'd say you finally lost your fucking mind," Elric shot back, scowling at the man's shoulder. Damn it! His ego would never let him acknowledge it, but he had been pretty sure that he surpassed the pervert in height. His pissed off-ness went up a notch.

The sound of jingling metal hitting hard wood interrupted their—what Roy considered to be flirtatious—taunting. Both looked from the set of keys sitting on the bar to Madam Chris, who was leaning with one hand on her hip against the table.

The dark-haired woman regarded her nephew. "You're done," she declared, snatching up the half full glass of scotch. Then she glanced at Edward. "Take him home, kid."

Knowing better than to argue, the former alchemist grabbed the keys and with a sour look on his face, Ed turned to the Flame Alchemist whose eyes were—in his opinion—glittering for absolutely no reason and sighed. "Let's go," he muttered, waving his hand at the door. The young scientist made his way around the clustered bodies, then through the door into the night with the General in tow.

The two strolled throughout the streets of Central toward his town home. Neither spoke, which left the surrounding air tense; Edward's hands were shoved into the pockets of his tan trousers while Roy cast a sidelong glance at him every so often. Unable to endure the awkward silence, and in dire need of entertainment, Roy spoke up. "Thank you for accompanying me home, Fullmetal."

Although he was fed up with the repeated use of his former title, Ed ignored it. "I'm not accompanying you home. Apparently Madam Christmas thinks someone has to take you so you don't get your ass kicked by some jerk who likes hitting super old people." He quickly stepped around a giant pothole in the sidewalk; the sudden movement caused him to bump into an innocent bystander. That impact sent him stumbling into Roy, who caught him before he knocked the two of them over.

"You really should watch where you're going," chided Roy, grinning at the glowering young man. As he helped straighten the boy up, his hand inadvertently—purposefully—brushed against his rear.

Edward yelped and nearly lost his footing again. "Get your hand off my ass, Mustang!" he yelled, his cheeks scorching a fiery shade of red. Well, that's something he thought he would never say.

"Pardon me," excused the General with a roguish grin.

To Elric's complete and utter relief, the bastard quieted down and kept his hands to himself for the rest of the journey to his home. And before the two knew it, he was unlocking the door and leading the older man inside. But as soon as Mustang stepped over the threshold, he tripped over the welcoming mat.

"Are you seriously that buzzed?" scoffed the blond, grabbing the man's arm. Ed pulled him up and slung his arm over his shoulders. "Where's your bedroom?"

The Flame Alchemist looked at him, his brow twitching with mirth. "Is Fullmetal asking to join me in my bed?" he teased, delighting in the other's protruding fury.

"I can always drop your geriatric ass here and leave," remarked Ed, smiling sweetly at General Touchy-Feely.

Rolling his onyx eyes, Roy took a step forward, the sounds of their shoes clicking against the mahogany wood floors as he led them down the hall and up the stairs to his room.

Using the light filtering in through the curtains, Elric guided the dark-haired man over to his bed, making a conscious effort to not toss him onto the mattress. Instead, he kindly prompted Roy to sit down on its edge. He meant to pull away once it was all said and done, but Mustang tumbled onto his side, dragging him along for the ride in an awkward twist of tangled limbs; the bed springs bounced back in rebellion—and their mouths collided.

The electricity crackling between their lips sent sparks down Edward's spine and the warmth cascading along his trembling skin lit his nerves on fire. And in his shock, his traitorous eyes closed, allowing him to revel in the complete loss of common sense when he felt Roy's lips move against his own, turning the accidental touch into a kiss.

During their mishap of an embrace, an array of emotions poured into Edward's body. In the darkest part of whatever was left of his sanity, his blossoming suspicions grew. But at that moment, he didn't care. That was, until reality literally slapped him on the ass by Roy's eager hand.

Gasping, the blond pulled away and fell onto the hard floor with a grunt. White light burst behind his eyes when his head smacked against the wood. Groaning, Elric slowly propped himself up on his elbows. Blinking the stars away, the scientist gazed up at his former commanding officer, who was smiling that annoying, 'I know something you don't know' smile.

"I hope you enjoyed that as much as I did, Fullmetal," murmured Roy, his husky voice blanketing over the honesty behind his words. And with that, he closed his eyes.

* * *

Roy slowly cracked his eyes open with a quiet moan, silently cursing the bright sun lighting up his room. He placed a hand over his face as an impromptu shield, then rolled over to put his back against the window. He peeled his hand away—then nearly shouted in surprised. A fully clothed Edward was lying next to him sound asleep. Through his open mouth, a trail of drool spilled between parted lips, and snores sounded in his throat. The honey-blond hair cradling his youthful face was a wild mess. Against Mustang's better judgment, he carefully reached out and tucked a loose strand behind his ear. That spontaneous gesture was followed by a soft caress of Roy's thumb against the other's cheek; he swiftly pulled away when Elric smacked his lips, then rolled over. Taking that as his cue to leave, the General got up out of bed and padded over to his bathroom to get ready for the day.

Freshly showered and dressed in uniform, Mustang returned to his room and sat down in a chair by the fireplace with a coffee cup in hand. Over the rim of the mug, his dark eyes locked on the sleeping form of Edward Elric.

"Well, wouldn't you look at that!" a voice chuckled from the empty chair on his right.

The Flame Alchemist jumped at the sound. He cast a sidelong glance at—what he convinced himself to be the representation of his inner voice—Hughes. He regretted not adding the usual alcoholic spirits to his morning coffee.

"So you've finally found yourself in a situation you can't manipulate to your advantage." Readjusting his glasses, the fallen Colonel looked from the bed to Roy. "You embarrassed him," he accused, frowning.

Crossing his legs, Mustang put an elbow on the chair's armrest and cradled his chin in his palm. "I did," he sighed.

"What made you do it?"

The General tilted his head and gazed at the work of his imagination. "I was curious," he replied simply. "Is there any harm in satisfying something you've been wondering for some time?"

Maes lifted his eyebrows. "Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Yes," admitted Roy. Upon seeing Hughes' annoying grin that practically emanated romantic cheer, his cheeks had the nerve to dust with a light hue of pink. "Anyway," he muttered, clearing his throat, "I can sense his suspicions. He feels our bond, but he either hasn't figured it out, or he's too stubborn to admit that it's coming from me."

"I vote stubborn," offered Hughes, waving a hand in the air. "I mean, c'mon Roy; he's a scientist. He won't accept it until he sees it with his own eyes."

"It's quite the experience being on the giving end of the legendary Edward Elric bullheadedness rather than the receiving end," mused the Flame Alchemist, smiling with amusement. "I didn't know it could be more stressful than having to put up with it when he's in a mood."

"It's not like you to drop hints," the bespectacled man pointed out. "You're gonna have to say something if you wanna get past that."

General Mustang took a sip of non-alcoholic coffee, then exhaled a sigh through his nose. "I don't think he'd appreciate knowing. I'm not exactly in his good graces am I?" he remarked, staring at the slumbering blond.

"I told you to find your soulmate and be happy," the Colonel reminded the man. "Ed's right there. Take the chance while you have it. Don't be an idiot and let him slip through your fingers."

"He's still young. I doubt he would want to be with someone who wakes up screaming during the night after dreaming about blood and the smell of singed skin."

"He wouldn't hold that against you, Roy. We both know he's more understanding than you want to admit," insisted Hughes. "Did you have any nightmares last night?"

Roy clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "No. For the first time in a while, sleep was rather peaceful." He gazed over a Hughes, who was beaming with a sickeningly sweet smile. "And before you say something annoying, I know it's because of him," he added, grimacing at what looked to be hearts bursting behind the other man's glasses.

"I told you: soulmates!" sang Maes, gleefully.

"Oh, shut up."

"So now that..." Hughes paused and scanned the room. "Where's the picture of my darling Elicia? The absolutely adorable one with the ducklings and the ice cream cone?" With his sparkling eyes following the exasperated finger pointing at the dresser, the Colonel let out a not-so-manly squeal at the sight of the framed picturing sitting on it. "Anyway," he said, turning back to his friend, "what do you wanna do, now?"

Mustang reached into his pocket, pulling out his silver watch to check the time. "Let him sleep," he stated before closing the timepiece with a click. He emptied the coffee mug, then stood from the plush armchair and walked over to his bed. "And not be here when he wakes,” he added, staring down at Edward. “He plans on avoiding me for as long as he can. I'll afford him that luxury."


	4. Chapter 4

Amidst the early morning hustle and bustle of the Central City Train Station, Alphonse stood at the platform waiting for Winry’s train to arrive from Resembool. And his so-called brother—the soon-to-be late Edward Elric (may his soul Rest In Peace)—was nowhere to be found. How wonderful. Al could only imagine their childhood friend’s reaction when she noticed that only he arrived to greet her. He decided Ed was on his own whenever the idiot finally made it back to their apartment.

He shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, occasionally popping up on his toes to scan across the sea of heads roaming around the station in search of his older brother. But after minutes upon minutes of searching, Alphonse believed that he would be meeting Winry on his own. Alone. All by himself. _Alone_. By golly was he going to strangle Edward as soon as he got ahold of him! He completely understood why Winry felt the need to use deadly force on him. Come to think of it, Alphonse noticed that he had been itching to use some sort weapon on his older brother. He wondered if Winry would lend him one of her wrenches…

His internal thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a train whistling its arrival as it rolled into the station, the stacks of white steam trailing behind it. The brakes squealed to a stop and the conductor hopped off the train and began ushering people onto the platform. Alphonse weaved through the crowd to approach the train’s exit, waving his arms above his head when he caught sight of their childhood friend stepping off the train.

“Winry,” shouted Alphonse, “over here!” A bright grin appeared when Rockbell looked at him, her smile wide and blue eyes radiant. He could feel the tips of his ears warming, though he couldn’t pinpoint why.

“Hey, Al!” Winry replied. She weaved through the throng of people with her bag at her side until she stopped in front of the other. Without warning, she dropped her luggage and lunged at Alphonse, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and practically strangling the poor soul; Elric let out a startled _hmph!_ sound on impact. It was a surprisingly painful collision, but he embraced the girl all the same.

  
“Glad you made it!” Alphonse huffed out beneath the chokehold. “I hope the trip wasn’t too much of a pain.”

To his safety’s immense relief, the young woman stepped back and dropped one arm while her free hand settled on his shoulder.

“I _still_ don’t know how you boys manage to ride those trains for days,” Winry remarked, rubbing her sore bottom. “But, other than feeling like an old woman, it was fine. I didn’t get much sleep, though.”

The corner of Al’s mouth twitched with amusement. “Well, when we get home, you can sleep all you like.” He leaned down to grab her bag, then gazed at her after he stood. A sweet smile lit up his face, his golden eyes sparkling. “But that requires an apple pie in exchange!”

Laughing, Rockbell scoffed and playful slapped his arm. “Of course, silly! I plan on whipping up some beef stew for Ed—wait a second.” Her brow scrunched up in confusion as she spun around, her blond hair flying over her shoulder. “Where is he!”

 _Oh, boy; here it comes._ Whatever smile Alphonse had been donning swiftly dropped into something akin to unbridled horror.

The automail mechanic came to a stop and slowly turned her eyes, which were brimming with annoyance, to Alphonse. He prayed his gulp was inaudible over the other pedestrians, and the bead of sweat running down his forehead, unnoticeable.

“He made you come here by yourself, didn’t he?” surmised Winry in a voice so loud, Al was amazed the birds on the platform hadn’t flown away in fear. He sure wanted to.

“Nooo!” he insisted with a drawn out shake of his head. Elric reached into the back of his blond hair, and began scratching at its nape. “You know how brother can be when it comes to sleeping, Winry,” he added.

Rockbell tilted her head and frowned in veiled agreement. “You’re right. But, I’m still gonna kill him for making you come here while he sleeps like the lazy bum that he is.”

“Deal!” exclaimed Al. Because he was going to murder his brother, too.

Then, without thought, Elric held out his hand; he failed to notice the light pink dusting the other’s cheeks when she placed her hand in his. “Let’s go meet him at home.”

“Alright,” agreed Winry.

Alphonse gently tugged on her arm, and began leading her through the crowd of travelers, weaving and ducking past luggage and people alike. And once they stepped out from beneath the train station’s protection, the loud sound of thunder clashed overhead.

The blonde’s blue eyes snapped upward; the sky had turned a shade of purple with the occasional bright flash of white light illuminating the darkening clouds. “Do you think we’ll get back before it starts?”

“I sure hope so, because I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

Deciding that he’d rather stay dry and petrified versus drenched and petrified while dealing with a fuming Winry when Ed got back home, Alphonse hurried to the curb and hailed down a taxi. Thankfully, a black car quickly pulled to the side. He opened the vehicle’s door and ushered in Winry before hopping in alongside her.

By time they arrived at the apartment building, rain had already began splattering on the taxi’s windshield. If he wasn’t so worried about his brother’s idiocy, Al would’ve found the sound soothing to his nerves. Nevertheless, he quickly paid the driver (and left a modest tip), then opened the door and stepped out. With the bag in tow, he walked around to the other side and grabbed his childhood friend’s hand, and briskly hauled her toward the building and up the stairs into their home.

Elric was moderately pleased that he wouldn’t be soaked to the bone while he watched Winry pummel his older brother. He deserved it.

* * *

The roaring noise of thunder clapping jolted Edward from his sleep. His eyelashes slowly fluttered open, but instantly shut the moment luminescent lightning crackled and lit up the dark overcast sky. The white flashes seared his skin and the frightened chirps of fleeing birds ricocheted throughout his skull. And taking into consideration the phantom headache pounding behind his weary eyes, it pissed him the _fuck off_. Whoever designed the weather should’ve gone straight to Hell.

Ed gently rolled onto his other side, turning away from the window while he covered his face with his clammy hands. He pathetically groaned in award-winning agony—which according to Winry, was an overly dramatic rendition of a dying whale wrestling with an elephant. The girl’s chiding didn’t stop him from milking the moments in which it was called for, however. Particularly when he was gifted with beef stew or pie as a pick-me-up. But more than likely that thoughtfulness was done out of the need to shut him up. Edward never complained either way.

Yawning into his palms, Elric ran his hands down his face, then stretched, arching his back until it realigned and popped back into place. After another yawn, the blond twisted his body, glancing at the bedroom door through his eyelashes.

“Al?” he rasped, his voice saturated with sleep and his throat, dry.

His response came in the form of silence. So he tried, and was once again, greeted with nothing but the sounds of the storm raging outside.

Huffing, Ed shifted against the unusually silky sheets until he was facing the door. He cautiously opened one eye.

And his soul instantaneously died when he was greeted, not by his modest bedroom entrance, but by a pair of white gloves sitting on the nightstand. Edward could literally _feel_ his departed essence being engulfed by the eternal flames of Hell when he saw a familiar red array patterned on each glove. He absently wondered if Alphonse would miss him. If he didn’t murder him first, that is.

Without another moment to lose, Edward shot up into a sitting position. He immediately regretted it when his head began to swim. Closing his eyes, he carefully supported himself on one trembling arm while he brought his hand to settle against his temple before massaging it in gentle circles. The blond took several deep breaths, then looked from the nightstand to the wall, his gaze traversing the length of the cream-colored wall where it passed by navy curtains and various forms of furniture decorated with frames and other sentimental pieces. Edward stopped when he caught sight of a particular picture featuring a little girl with pigtails surrounded by baby ducks—Elicia.

If he wasn’t dead before, Elric sure was now.

Sizzling from head to toe, Edward hesitantly peeked to the other side of the bed; a heavy sigh of relief escaped him when he found it unoccupied. That relief didn’t last long when he realized he hadn’t escaped Mustang’s house before the man woke up to find him still hanging around—and in his bed, no less. But in his defense, the man did have a death grip on him throughout the night. In spite of the bruises and sore muscles that Ed knew he’d have to put up with for however long, the tight embrace did put an end to the screaming, at least.

Grimacing in lieu of his body’s protests, Elric threw his legs over the side of the bed. He groaned and stretched his right shoulder, which was aching like a bitch thanks to the unforgiving storm. He dropped his arms, letting his palms slap against his thighs; he winced at the slight sting.

Edward sighed. He brushed his hair from face while he pondered his options in regard to his current—and seriously fucked up—situation. Should he stay at Roy’s home, or should he go back to his apartment where he would surely meet his end?

For a split second he highly considered delaying his trip home. But, Ed knew that would only incur whatever wrath wasn’t already brewing inside of Winry. And he also preferred not to be caught dead in the old bastard’s house. Either way his figurative demise was sealed.

* * *

Hours after her arrival, Winry sat at the boys’ quaint kitchen table, her attention bouncing back and forth between the red apples she was peeling, and Alphonse’s tales regaling the letters he frequently received from May. The smitten tone lacing his words elicited an irrational sting of jealousy. That unexpected emotion resulted in a twinge of guilt as if she were betraying one of her best friends by using her pen and possibly ruining whatever he had hoped for in regard to his future. Biting her bottom lip, Winry gazed over at Alphonse, who was standing by the kitchen counter while he measured out flour for the pie dough. It was time for a change of topic.

“Hey, Al,” she said, reaching for a new apple, “what does your pen look like? You never told me about it.”

With an iridescent smile, the boy turned around and leaned against the counter, his hands covered with flour. Winry could see a smear of it across his right cheek. It was quite adorable.

“Well, my dad left it to me,” Al replied. “It’s a quill he used to write letters and notes about alchemy.”

“That sounds fancy,” commented Winry. She tossed the freshly peeled apple into a bowl and grabbed for another. “What does it look like?”

Alphonse tapped his chin, and Winry smiled at the white fingerprint the action left behind. “Hmm...it’s pretty long with white feathers at the end of it. I actually have the inkwell and case he kept it in, too.”

“It sounds beautiful,” she marveled.

“Definitely.”

Summoning the calmest of all nonchalant expressions, Winry tread into dangerous waters. “Have you tried using it?”

The young man cocked an eyebrow. “I’ve written a few letters with it,” he answered, “but I haven’t tried it on my hand, yet.” Pausing, he ran a hand through his blond tresses in an effort to hide the pink blossoming on his cheeks; specks of flour settled in his hair. “I’ve been waiting for the right time.”

He decided not to tell her about the surprise he had woken up to days ago. Thankfully, the drawing was barely visible, now. Alphonse wasn’t keen on the idea of how excited Winry would get over the soulmate mark. Nor would he enjoy the teasing and cooing and maybe even a smack for keeping such a secret from her.

A somewhat disappointed frown tugged at the corner of Rockbell’s lips. She could sense the other’s anticipation and excitement, as well as his worry and anxiety. Looking away, Winry focused on the apple she was supposed to be peeling; it sat in her hand unnoticed, its red skin free from any cuts by her knife. She chewed on her bottom lip, wondering if she should say something—anything that would ease her apprehension. But before she could think of the words, Alphonse spoke.

“Winry?”

The automail mechanic’s head snapped up, her long bangs falling across her forehead. She glanced into Alphonse’s golden eyes, which were clouded with worry; she didn’t need the bond to tell her that much, at least. Rockbell swallowed thickly, then quietly cleared her throat.

“Yes, Al?”

“What’s wrong?”

Winry clumsily dropped the apple and watched it roll toward the edge of the table. She swiftly snatched it up before it toppled onto the floor. “Nothing!” squeaked Winry as she tossed the fruit into the bowl.

The expression on the other’s face screamed at her, and through their link, she immediately knew he wasn’t buying the lie. He was suspicious, as well as hurt at her refusal to confide in him.

She smiled softly. “I’m just worried about your stupid brother,” she insisted, gently waving his worries away. And oddly enough, she felt the weight of Alphonse’s emotions lift from her shoulders, only to be replaced by a soothing sense of agreement—and a desire for one of her wrenches.

“I’m sure he’s fine.”

“I still can’t believe he didn’t show up at the train station and made you wait by yourself! He should know better than to do that by now.”

“That’s true,” acknowledged Al with an evil smile. “But, I won’t stop him if you decide to smack him.”

Winry’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, her lips twitching with amusement. “Since when did you become so violent?”

At that precise moment, the two soulmates heard the telltale sign on the front door creaking open, obviously with the intent to conceal the jerk’s late arrival to the party.

Winry shot up from the chair and flew from the kitchen, rounding the corner until she stood feet away from her possible victim.

“Edward Elric!” she howled.

 _Fuck_. So much for a quiet entrance—and his hopes for a longer life. Ever so slowly, Edward twirled on his heel and faced the furious automail mechanic, who was standing by the living room couch with a wrench in her hand, one foot furiously tapping against the floor. A loud roar of thunder crashed outside and a bright flash of lightning exploded behind her, illuminating her fuming form. It was actually quite terrifying. He inwardly cursed.

“Uh...hey, Winry,” greeted Ed, waving timidly. “How are ya doin’?” As he spoke, he covertly scanned the area for his sibling. Alphonse was nowhere to be found. That little punk.

In spite of her growling, the young woman’s voice was eerily calm, “Where have you been, Edward? We’ve been worried sick.”

Ed was briefly amused by the “we” part, seeing as the younger Elric apparently had no intention of rescuing him. “I had a sleepover with a friend,” he said.

It wasn’t a total lie, yet his cheeks warmed at the confession. He nervously rubbed the back of his neck.

Crossing her arms, Winry twirled the tool between her fingers. “A sleepover?” she huffed. “Until twelve o’clock in the afternoon?”

“Yup, mhmm!” Edward chirped, eagerly nodding his head, his ponytail bobbing up and down. At least that part was true. Not like that would matter to the woman or anything.

“And you couldn’t call to tell us that you weren’t lying in a ditch somewhere?”

To Edward’s immense relief, his younger brother finally strolled in from the kitchen.

“He did call, Winry,” he said. “You were asleep since you didn’t get much on the train. It must’ve slipped my mind because I was feeling a bit sleepy myself. Late night research and all.” Alphonse stepped behind the young woman and threw Ed a look that told him he wanted information in exchange for lying to their friend. He smiled a gorgeous smile; it was a threat.

Luckily, Winry nodded. Al was slightly surprised that she believed them so easily, though he did have a faint sense of skepticism bubbling in his gut, a feeling that wasn't his own. He mentally shrugged it off. Fortunately, there was no cause for further concern; he would find out what he need to know because he put his life on the line, being the good sibling that he was and all.

“Alright… well, I'll...uh go finish preparing the pie before I put it in the oven, then work on some things I’d like to add to your automail,” stated Rockbell, her lips set in a firm line. She turned away and proceeded into the kitchen. Winry waved over her shoulder with a backward swish of her hand. “If you boys need me, you know where to find me.”

Alphonse peered at the kitchen’s entrance and waited for the sounds of the bowl filled with apples rattling against the table and a knife thumping against the cutting board, then he grabbed Edward by the arm and hauled him into his brother's bedroom. Once they were inside, he gently closed the door behind them with a soft click. Al walked to the other’s bed and plopped down on its edge.

“Are you alright, brother?” he asked, taking in his appearance. “You seem off. Maybe even sick.”

Rolling his eyes, Ed grinned. “Don’t worry about me, Al.” He shrugged off his drenched jacket and dropped it onto the floor before going to his dresser. After he unbuttoned his waistcoat, he got to work on his dress shirt; the soaked material clung to his chilled skin as he peeled it off. Leaning downward, he propped one foot on the chair next to his desk, then began unlacing his shoe.

“So…” came the intrusive voice behind him.

Edward paused and glanced over his shoulder at Al, who was looking much more angelic than he should if one were to consider the situation. His golden eyes narrowed in suspicion. “So…”

A slow Cheshire Cat-like grin curled the corners of the younger blond’s lips. Edward swiftly felt the fight or flight response screaming at him to duck and run for cover. But, before the poor unfortunate soul had the chance to do so much as blink, Alphonse beat him to the punch.

“Did you kiss him?”

At his brother’s words, the slippery sole of Ed’s shoe slipped against the chair’s smooth wood and he tipped forward, his unfortunately not automail shin slamming against the furniture’s edge. A sharp hiss followed by a colorful string of expletives flew through his parted lips. And while he was enduring another round of agony, an impressive shade of scarlet blossomed in his cheeks and steam rolled off his searing skin in mocking puffs of billowing smoke.

An amused snort blurted behind his back. “Are you alright, brother?” asked the younger blond. “That looked like it kinda hurt.”

Jerk.

Grumbling, Ed carefully twisted around and sat down on the chair. He lifted his leg and crossed it over the other so he could massage away the pain. He glared at Alphonse, his eyes narrowing at the sweet smile plastered on the other’s face. Ed cocked an eyebrow. “Ya think?”

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” mused Al. He leaned back, supporting himself with his hands. “Well?”

“‘Well’ what?”

“Did you kiss him?”

Edward clicked his teeth, buying himself some time before coming up with the lamest feign of ignorance he had ever conjured. He wasn’t proud of the slight hitch in his voice.

“Kissed who?”

Scoffing, Al lifted an arm and made some sort of vague gesture at nothing in particular; the movement reignited the nausea whirlpooling in Ed’s stomach. “Oh, I don’t know…” the younger blond taunted with a sarcastic smirk. “Maybe _General Mustang?_ ”

Edward threw his head back, his booming laugh loud and cackling, borderline maniacal to the point where he was almost convinced that he did, indeed, lose his mind. At the rate his life was going, he wouldn’t be surprised if he hadn’t already gone off the deep end and he simply existed to entertain the universe’s amusement.

After a few moments of back-bending, tear-gathering laughter, Ed settled down and gazed at his sibling, wiping away the tears prickling the corners of his eyes.

“Are you done yet?” questioned Al, nearly growling in annoyance as he glared. It was a look that promised Ed a swift brotherly punch if he kept it up.

“ _Ha_ —yeah, I’m done,” insisted Edward before letting out another chuckle; his breath blew his blond bangs from his forehead. He cleared his throat. “Alright, I’m done,” he promised, the corner of his lips twitching.

Glowering, Alphonse straightened himself up and crossed his arms. “I don’t know what’s so funny about you liking the General.”

If Edward thought the idea of kissing the General was hilarious, “liking” him was outrageous to the point where it struck him dumbfounded, speechless. And judging by the other’s scowl transforming into a knowing grin, Edward wasn’t the covert comedian he had thought himself to be after all these years. For a minute, he hated himself and his little brother, who apparently lived to torture him in ways that would earn a proud slap to the back by Teacher. Or, maybe even a high-five from Winry. The boy has been spending a lot of time in the presence of her conspiratorial ways, after all.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Al,” insisted Edward, drumming his fingers against his thigh. He tapped one foot against the floor, his shoes clacking against the wood; each impact left a wet imprint.

“Oh, come on, Edward!” exclaimed Alphonse. “You were with him _all_ night; I know you were!”

Blushing furiously, Ed groaned. “Can you say it any louder?! For fuck’s sake, Al, Winry’s here! Do you want me to die?”

“I knew it!” squealed Al delightfully, and Ed thought the ear-splitting sound was creepily reminiscent of Winry’s excited shrieks. It was off-putting. And most likely dangerous.

“Knew what?” snapped Ed, his hands clenching in his lap.

The younger blond bounced in his spot on the bed. “That you lov—“

“Don’t you dare say it, Al. I mean it.”

“Say what?” asked Alphonse, blinking sweetly. He leaned back on his hands and shouted, “That. You. Totally. Love. General— _OW!_ ”

His taunt was cut off by Edward’s shoe planting in his face before it clattered onto the floor. The elder Elric smirked. The twerp deserved it.

Growling, Al swiftly reached back and grabbed the other’s pillow and whipped it across the room where it smacked Ed in the head. Before the match could escalate to an all-out battle of the siblings—where Alphonse would undoubtedly prove victorious—there was a loud knock at the door. Both paused in their ready-to-pounce stances.

“Are you guys alright in there?” called Winry. She knocked, again. “I heard a loud noise.”

“We’re fine, Winry,” responded Alphonse. He cast a sidelong glance at Edward, daring him to say a word.

“Hey, Winry,” called Ed, “how long are you sticking around for by the way?”

“Until I get sick of you guys!”

“Great,” both boys muttered.

“What did you guys say?” shouted Winry, her voice chirper, yet menacing.

“Nothing!”

“Alright, well, hurry up in there. I would like to go shopping! The hardware store won’t be having that sale forever, you know,” she informed them. Thankfully, her parting words were accompanied by the sound of receding footsteps.

Once they were in the clear, the young men peered at one another. Each settled down on their seats.

Frowning, Alphonse let out an exasperated sigh. “I just wish you’d admit it already, brother.”

* * *

After what felt like eons filled with days of walking around Central, Edward was carrying yet another round of bags filled with random items he could care less about. He knew one thing for sure: the extra luggage frequently elicited cramps to run along his arms before settling in his shoulders. The whole ordeal made him grouchy enough to frighten any children who so much as looked at him.

Nevertheless, Ed trailed behind Alphonse and Winry, both of whom were talking animatedly about something or another; he wasn’t paying the least amount of attention. It was hard to do so when he found his thoughts frequently wandering elsewhere, straying to a particular place—to someone he hadn’t seen for days. And during that time, he began to feel a sense of loss that increased as time went on.

He had somehow managed to avoid the Flame Alchemist who shall not be named—General Roy Mustang—just like he had planned. However, he hadn’t expected to feel as if something was missing, something that he actually long for. It was equal parts creepy and terrifying.

In the back of his mind, he constantly heard the whispers of a little voice telling him why he felt the things he did; why he dreamt of things he’s never seen before; why he felt like shit in the mornings and drained at night. Edward was caught between wanting the answer and denying what he knew all along. He hated it. And him.

Clenching his teeth, Edward gazed down at the ground. The blond watched his feet take step after step forward while he listened to the bags pressed against his back swish from side to side. He was lost in the thoughts swirling in his mind. Then, he heard Alphonse shout.

“Hi, General Mustang!” called Al, enthusiastically waving an arm above his head.

Ed’s eyes snapped up, and his stomach instantly plummeted to the sidewalk while his heart began to beat wildly in his chest. He fleetingly wondered if this was what Winry felt when she laid her sights on new automail models. The thought was gross, but he inadvertently blushed all the same. He decided to ignore the accompanying sense of relief, too.

“Good evening, Alphonse, Winry,” greeted Roy as he approached the trio. He glanced at Edward, his gaze connecting with golden eyes that were unusually shy. “And you, Fullmetal.”

Glowering, Edward merely grunted in response.

Winry whipped around with such momentum, the elder Elric was amazed she hadn’t twirled down the street.

“Edward!” she hissed. “Will you be nice for once in your stubborn life?”

 _No_. However, rather than voice that damning word, Ed muttered in a quiet, eerily robotic voice, “Hello, General. It’s good to see you. I hope you’re doing well this fine evening.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the automail mechanic’s brow twitch in frustration. He mentally shrugged; she’ll live. His life, on the other hand, was up for debate.

A slow smile spread across Mustang’s pale cheeks as he gazed at Edward, his dark eyes sparkling. It was an expression that radiated evil, and was meant to taunt and rile him up. He could practically feel the checkmate move that would leave him floored before the old bastard breathed a word. The blond was right, and he hated the asshole’s words more than he cared to admit.

“It is a beautiful evening, indeed,” the General agreed, and Edward got the impression that he was speaking directly to him, and only him. “It’s a wonderful night to meet an associate of mine.”

To his dismay, Ed’s heart skipped a beat; he was sure it was seconds away from falling out of his butt. The simple thought of Mustang having some sort of lame ass date brought forth an irrational sting of jealousy, and he desperately desired to roundhouse kick the smug look off the bastard’s face. And besides, it’s been quite awhile since he last exercised, anyway. It wouldn’t be a bad way to relieve stress either. As far as Edward was concerned, it was a win-win situation.

Before he could stop it, he blanked out, barely processing the conversation going on between the others. The blond focused on the nightlife around them: the excited chatter, the cars passing by, the puddles that splashed up cold water each time someone stepped it one—anything other than the bragging undoubtedly spilling from the Flame Alchemist’s lips.

Edward only came back when he felt a hard thump against his shoulder; it nearly send him tumbling forward. He looked to the side and found Alphonse staring down at him.

“Huh?” he blurted.

“The General said ‘goodbye’ to you, you know.” He paused, then spoke in a whisper. “He just walked away if you want to go to him. He’s not far behind us. I can keep Winry occupied.”

Playing off his enthusiasm with an annoyed groan, Edward nonchalantly peeked over his shoulder. He was met with a pair of dark eyes boring into his; Roy was shamelessly staring at him, and didn’t even bother to hide it. The blond could feel his cheeks warming while he stood there like a dumbass, waiting for something to happen or even will himself to flip the man the finger. Unfortunately, the opportunity to present the Flame Alchemist with a rude gesture passed by him.

With a final nod, Roy smirked and turned on his heel, leaving the young man behind. He willed himself to not look back. And as he strolled down the street, weaving between those milling about on the sidewalk, he felt a harsh tug of disappointment and longing, followed by a sense of loss and confusion—all of which were slithering through his bond with Edward.

In spite of himself, he considered looking over his shoulder in search of Ed, but shoved the thought aside when a voice whispered in his ear and a gentle touch brushed against his shoulder. Roy was grateful that his imagination hadn’t affected his causal stride.

“Listen, Roy, I know what you’re thinking; don’t do it.”

Humming, the General strolled up to Madam Christmas’ brothel and walked through the entrance. He moved between the crowded room toward the bar, where a woman with long blond hair sat with a glass of wine. She swirled the alcohol in dainty circles; it was an undoubtedly sensual motion meant to capture every man’s attention. It was too bad, really. Roy had no intention of seeking out a meaningless body. He had come here for a drink, after all. But, he did feel the tiniest bit guilty for tricking his soulmate into believing he had some sort of nefarious plan for whoever managed to lure him in tonight.

He walked along the length of the bar, and was mere footsteps away from his reserved barstool when a voice to the side vied for his attention. His aunt stood there, leaning against the table.

“Roy-Boy.”

“Yes, Madam?” asked Roy.

The woman held out a receiver. “It’s a call for you.”

Politely taking the proffered telephone, Roy grinned. “Thank you, Madam.” He put the phone to his ear and spoke, “General Mustang—Hawkeye.”

Intently listening to the lieutenant speak, Roy pressed the receiver closer to his ear, thereby allowing her calm, yet urgent, message to drown out the crowd. His brow furrowed and he clicked his teeth together. After a swift and thorough report, Mustang nodded. “I’ll meet you there, lieutenant.”

“It appears that our evening will be cut short, Madam,” said Roy, handing over the phone.

Madam Christmas made a noise, then gestured toward the exit with a manicured hand. “Get out of here. I’ll see you later, Roy-Boy.”

Flashing a grin, the General nodded and left the brothel before making his way to another crime scene.

* * *

In the lower levels of Command, General Mustang and Lieutenant Hawkeye marched through the halls, the white fluorescent lights refracting against the laminate, their black boots clacking against the tile floor. They walked in silence, rushing with dignified and solemn grace toward the morgue where Dr. Knox waited with two additional children that were found at another crime scene mere hours before. And when they finally made it to the double doors leading into the morgue, they cast a sidelong glance at one another before swinging the metallic door open.

Inside, Dr. Knox stood between two metal tables, each housing small bodies with a blue sheet draped over them—children who shouldn’t be there.

Roy, followed by Hawkeye, approached Dr. Knox, who was filling out something on a clipboard. With the pen in hand, he swiftly scrawled across the bottom before looking at the two Amestrian Military officers.

“Well, General Mustang,” he said, “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you these two are just like the first.”

“Have you found anything else?” asked Mustang, stopping just shy of one table. He looked down at the sheet-covered form and clicked his teeth.

“Compared to the new victims, the first is nearly perfect,” replied Knox. He tossed the clipboard onto a nearby lab bench, then grabbed the top of one sheet and pulled it down to uncover the face, revealing a little girl with pale skin.

Roy stared at her face, his dark eyes pinned to the words etched onto her forehead—Fullmetal Alchemist.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dr. Knox pull on gloves and stand on the other side of the table. Roy looked up at him.

“Now, if it wasn’t for the patch of skin that was hidden in the hairline behind the ear of the first victim, we wouldn’t have known that there is possibly a second body.”

“And this?” asked Roy.

“The…work...is sloppy,” Knox informed him. “We still have the appearance of a porcelain doll, red eyes, and long blond hair.” He paused and took turns pointing at various places—each area containing different patches of dark skin melted into the contrasting pale. “As you can see, General, it’s more of a patchwork pattern; almost ragdoll.”

“And what of the other child?”

Knox lifted the sheet and covered the victim’s head. “I can spare you the look,” he offered. “The second is the same, but the patches are located in different areas.” He watched Roy nod in acknowledgement. “Would you like another sample to take to the Elric’s for confirmation?”

“Yes, thank you,” answered Roy.

He watched as Dr. Knox quickly, yet efficiently obtained samples from both victims, placing them in Petri dishes. They were handed over, which Roy clasped them in a firm grip.

“Thank you, Dr. Knox,” said Roy and behind him Hawkeye nodded her appreciation.

“I hope I don’t see you back here, again, General,” stated Knox. “No offense.”

“None taken,” replied Roy.

And with that, Roy and Hawkeye left the morgue and proceeded down the hallway.

“Should we warn the Elric brothers, sir?” asked Hawkeye.

“I believe we should hold off until we gather more information. This may have nothing to do with them, but rather a personal taunt against me.”

“Should I gather the team, sir?”

Roy nodded. “We’ll gather up what we have for now, then piece together on what action we should take next.” He stopped at a junction in the hallway. “Meet me back at my office. I’ll drop these off at the laboratory. Fullmetal or Alphonse are most likely there.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Hawkeye.

* * *

Loud footsteps thumped toward Edward, their noise flooding the empty lab where he on a bench, staring out the window. He didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. And when he did swiveled around on the seat, he came face-to-face with General Mustang.

“Good evening, Fullmetal.” The greeting was drawled out in a way that grated on Elric’s already frayed nerves. “You’re looking worse for wear. Getting plenty of sleep? If you’re done growing, that is.”

The blond decided to ignore the taunt and avoid a possible prison sentence by honing in on the mysterious voice whispering in his ear, telling him that the bastard was trying to piss him off. It was working.

So, in an effort to not destroy Mustang with his left foot, Ed grinned sweetly and subconsciously channeled the flirting skills he knew he didn’t actually possess.

“Whatcha doin’ in this neck in the woods, hmm?” he hummed. “I know you can’t get enough of me, but I didn’t know creepy stalking was in General Roy Mustang’s playbook.”

The saccharine grin plastered on his face turned into a dark smirk at the sight of the ‘oh so irresistible’ Mustang’s stumble. The jackass took it in stride, though. The one-up didn’t last very long.

Elric rapidly wracked his newfound Casanova side, searching for some sort of ammunition to use against the Flame Alchemist. Before he could come up with any sort of firepower, however, Roy was standing before him. He grinned the most dazzling of smiles, and his mouth went dry. Blushing, he clicked his teeth together. Edward lost that round, and they both knew it. Bastard.

“So, what are you doing here?”

Roy’s luminescent smirk widened. “It’s as you said, my dear Fullmetal: to see you.”

The crimson flooding Edward’s cheeks seared his skin, and he was sure all of Amestris could see the fiery color. It was Mustang’s fault. Regardless, Elric refused to allow the man another opportunity to woo him or whatever the hell he did to sweep people off their feet.

“Cut the shit.”

“How poetic of you,” drawled Roy, waving a hand in an all encompassing gesture.

Edward leaned backward, resting against the table. He crossed his arms and cocked his head to the side, his blond bangs falling across his forehead.

“Actually, I’ve been working on a few pieces here and there,” he offered with a smirk. “Would your old ass like to hear some?”

“I didn’t peg you as one who enjoys dirty talk, Fullmetal,” countered Mustang. “First, you express a desire to wrap your hands around my neck and strangle me. Now, you’re trying to lure me into an ulterior—and most likely pleasurable—trap. I wonder if I should be insulted.”

 _Boy oh boy_ did Edward hate the cocky sonofabitch. He knew exactly what plan he wanted to share with the Roy, but he managed (just barely) to rein in the flexing muscles beneath his dress shirt and silence his popping knuckles, all the while praying that he hadn’t cracked a few teeth inside of his clenched jaw.

“You shouldn’t put words in people’s mouths,” he retorted. “And the only place I’d lure you is a volcano or to a cliff that has spikes at the bottom.”

“See? Poetry.”

Rolling his golden eyes and quite frankly done with the asshole, Edward held out a hand. “Give it to me.” He paused, then quickly amended his statement. “Whatever you want me to look at, I mean.”

To Edward’s delight, Roy made no further comment as he handed over two stacked Petri dishes and placed them in the palm of his hand. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked at Roy with a frown.

“More samples?” asked Edward as he turned around to face the table, putting his back to Roy. He moved the lamp next to him and shined its bright light upon the samples before inspecting them.

“We’d like additional confirmation, as well anything new you and Alphonse may come across.”

Edward glanced over his shoulder, his eyes boring into Roy’s. “Are they alive?” His response came in the form of the faintest shake of Roy’s head. Sighing, he turned back to the items before him and began gather additional tools needed for dissection. “I’ll call Al over. We’ll get it done, General.”

“Thank you, Edward,” said Roy. “And please extend that to your brother.”

Without another word, he walked out the door, leaving a stunned Edward—who was finally addressed by his name—behind to gawk at his retreating form.

* * *

Roy absentmindedly stared out the window, numb to the bone as he watched the storm that had been going on for days clash and roll with lightning. Regret washed over him, though he wasn’t quite sure which plagued him more: Edward Elric or the guilt in knowing what the young man had ignorantly signed up for.

After seeing the children and conducting a spur of the moment meeting with his subordinates, he was doused with rounds of endless nightmares. And last night was no exception. He pondered on whether or not Edward had felt it, seen it, heard, it, and smelt it.

Swallowing thickly, Mustang cracked his neck. There was nothing he could do about Elric. Luckily, there was something he could do about the horrid pain that had settled in his right shoulder. He originally thought he had bumped it during the night when Edward had escorted him to the safety of his home, but it seemed as the harder the storm progressed, the more agonizing the pain became.

The sound of footsteps approaching his office door caught his attention. He whirled around and picked up a pen, and began filling out the paperwork that had been sitting on his workspace since the early afternoon. And just in time, too.

Hawkeye marched up his desk. He looked up to find another stack of files cradled in the Lieutenant's arms.

“Good evening, sir,” she said, placing the cause behind his demise on the corner of the desk. A steaming hot cup of coffee was placed beneath his nose.

Roy sighed. “For me?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Hawkeye. The blonde spared a minute to assess her commanding officer, her brown gaze roving over his pale skin and red-rimmed eyes. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Granted.”

“You look like hell, Roy.”

The General rolled his eyes. “I appreciate your candor,” he muttered.

“Are you getting enough rest?” she asked.

“Yes.” A lie.

“Are you eating?”

Placing an elbow on his desk, Roy cradled his chin in the palm of his hand. “Yes,” he drawled. Another lie.

Silence fell between them. Mustang picked up his coffee and took a sip.

“Does this have anything to do with Edward?”.

And Roy nearly choked on the scalding liquid. He put down the mug, coughing while he tried to take in a few deep breaths. He cleared his throat, swallowing down whatever coffee was left behind.

“I’m unsure as to why you’d think he has anything to deal with whatever you’re asking. Which is what exactly?”

The blonde didn’t reply, but merely stared at him in silent communication before she relented to his stubbornness.

“You should reply to him, Roy,” urged Hawkeye.

“I’ve barely seen him lately,” he answered. “And I have nothing to reply to.”

Riza leaned downward until they were eye-to-eye, gazes locked. “I was talking about your left hand.”

Whatever color was left in Mustang’s face was cascaded over by a ghastly white. It was a faint transformation, but Hawkeye saw it, nonetheless.

 _Of course_ she knew.

Ducking his head, Roy pulled the paperwork toward him and grabbed the pen, then began filling in the date of the topmost sheet.

“Enjoy your evening, Lieutenant,” he said, dismissing her.

“And you, sir,” replied Hawkeye. Then, she turned on her heel and walked toward the open door. She closed it behind her in a silent gesture of comfort.

Roy stared at the pages looking back at him, yet he saw nothing but the faintest movement out of the corner of his eye.

“Go away,” he ordered, closing his eyes and rubbing them with the heel of his free hand.

“Now, why would I do that?”

Ignoring the voice, Roy reached into a drawer and pulled out a bottle of alcohol, unscrewing the cap and pouring some into his coffee.

“You need to stop, Roy.”

The General glanced over to the corner of his desk where Hughes was leaning against it, his arms crossed and head bowed to the floor. The man’s usually chipper demeanor was overshadowed by the seriousness that often brought Roy a sense of doom.

“What do you want, Hughes?”

Maes craned his head to the side, then pushed up his glasses; the room’s bright light refracted against the lenses. “I want you to stop.”

Ignoring the plea, Roy took a sip of coffee and savored the burn that ran down his throat. He absentmindedly cracked his neck and rolled his right shoulder in its socket.

“Does it hurt?” asked Hughes.

Roy shot him a confused looked, once again subconsciously stressing the joint. “What _exactly_ is supposed to be hurting?”

After the question left his mouth, the coffee cup in his right hand began to shake, its contents spilling over the sides. Suddenly, his shoulder exploded in pain, searing through his muscles and incinerating his nerves as it traveled down to his trembling hand. He dropped the mug onto the desk, where it shattered and released the liquid spilling across the paperwork.

Gasping through clenched teeth, Roy squeezed his shoulder with his free hand. Beads of sweat cascaded down his forehead, sliding down his clammy skin where it mixed with the tears prickling his eyes. He pushed back the chair and swiveled to the side, and hunched over while he dry heaved through the pain.

“It’ll be over soon.”

Roy opened his eyes. His gaze flicked upward and found Hughes crouching before him. He swallowed thickly, then opened his mouth to speak; he gagged instead.

“I guess this is what Ed’s feeling right about now.”

“What—“

“You know, Ed’s pain can’t be helped,” murmured Hughes. “But you, on the other hand...if you continue to pick up _bottle_ after _bottle_ , _each_ and _every_ night and every hour in between so you can drink yourself into oblivion, remember how you’re feeling now. Because each time you take a sip of scotch or brandy or whatever’s in arm’s reach, you’re dragging Ed to Hell with you.”

With one last sharp intake of air, Roy managed to grab the waste bin from beneath his desk before he began to vomit, choking on the acidic taste of bile and alcohol. His stomach clenched and his throat burned alongside his shoulder; the pain and pressure forced him to blink away the threat of unconsciousness.

After catching his breath, Mustang swallowed and wiped his mouth. He shoved the bin to the side. Then, he inhaled a deep breath and exhaled a shuddering sigh through his nose.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough.”

Roy forced himself to sit up straight, his chair creaking as he turned toward the door. He clasped his hands, which were noticeably shaking, and placed them on the table.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Fullmetal?”

“Cut the bullshit,” snapped Ed. “You know exactly _why_ I’m here.”

A crooked smile tugged at the corner of Mustang’s mouth. “On the contrary,” he insisted and airily waved away the blond’s words.

Leaning against the doorframe, Edward folded his arms over his chest and crossed his ankles. “Something’s been on my mind lately.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“Well, I keep having some fucked up dreams about things I’ve never seen or heard.” He paused and lifted up his right hand, the rubbed his middle finger and thumb together in gentle circles.

“One of the dreams involve my recertification exam. You know the one where I almost kicked your ass?” He quietly snapped his fingers, and Roy thought it was the loudest noise in the room. “Anyway. I see myself, then suddenly I see a different boy. And before I know it—I wake up!” He raised his arm and snapped his fingers.

Roy’s hands tightened, his knuckles cracking. “That is highly disturbing,” he acknowledged.

Edward dropped his arm, letting it slap against his thigh. He shifted against the doorway until he was face-to-face with the other. Roy didn’t miss the slight wince when the blond’s right shoulder pressed against the frame.

“I’ve been dreamin’ a lot about Brigadier General Hughes, too. So, I called Mrs. Hughes.”

Mustang stared at Elric, whose dull golden eyes burned with accusation and spite. He considered saying something, but was at a loss for words.

“We chatted for awhile—she wants to see you, by the way—and she told me some fun things,” he paused, waiting for the other to speak. When he received no comment, Edward continued. “Didja know the moment that you do something like...we’ll say _kissing_...the stronger it gets? Since y’know, it’s like an intimate step. And, the longer you’re around the person, the bond strengthens; if you leave or never meet them, it weakens but doesn’t really go way.”

“Interesting, indeed,” said Roy with a nod.

Ed pushed himself away from the door and walked toward Roy, stopping just shy of his desk. He peered down at the man and placed a hand on his hip.

“What you always carry with you is the blue and silver calligraphy pen Hughes used to write Mrs. Hughes letters. She read some to me. I gotta tell you, they’re seriously sappy and grossly romantic,” stated the blond, his nose scrunching.

“Anyway, he chose the calligraphy pen since the tip is pretty sharp. It was a backup weapon if he ever found himself short on knives.”

Whatever color that was left in Roy’s cheeks drained. “When did you figure it out?”

“After your drunk ass thought it was cute to put your lips on mine. Oh! And the constant headaches and nausea helped, too. Plus, the dreams and even Brigadier General Hughes.”

“Hughes?”

Ed scoffed. “Yeah, Hughes.”

Roy gritted his teeth together and shifted in his seat, mortified and ashamed. “I didn’t think you’d be able to—“

“I don’t see him or anything. I have dreams of phantom memories or whatever you wanna call them,” offered Elric. He bit his bottom lip. “I guess they’re...uh...conversations you’ve had since he’s passed?”

Mustang nodded. “Then, there’s a chance you may have another one soon.”

“I expected as much.” Ed tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “And Hughes is right, by the way.”

Roy’s eyebrows twitched in confusion. “You said you couldn’t see him.”

“I can’t, but I think I can hear some radio static _through_ you. Pretty weird.”

“I agree.”

An eerie silence fell between them. Suddenly, Roy was hit with a random burst of fury. He closed his eyes, then opened them to find Edward glaring at him, his jaw white from the clench of his teeth.

“Edward—“

“Like I said: Hughes is right. I’m only going to tell you once, so listen,” ordered Ed. He took a step forward and leaned down, slapping his palms against the wooden desk. He seethed.

“I’ve already been to Hell,” he murmured, “more times than I dare to count. So, stop being an asshole and get yourself the fuck together; I’m tired of feeling shitty.” He straightened up. “When you’re finally over yourself, write on your hand. Until then, stay the fuck away from me.”

The blond turned to go, but stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “It’s your move, General. We _are_ playing a game, after all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you stargazerlilth for all of your help! Go check her out :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been a bit nervous writing this chapter because things are finally getting started. So, I hope you enjoy!

Edward sat next to the windowsill inside of his bedroom, his temple resting on the cool glass and legs crossed along the length of the window. Closing his eyes, he exhaled a shuddering sigh; his warm breath fogged up the glass. Ed weighed the pros and cons life had decided to bestow upon him. Apparently, it still enjoyed fucking with him no matter how kind he was to the world. Then again, Elric was his own brand of jerk when he was in a grumpy mood. He pushed that admission aside seeing as he was currently paying the price for his attitude—a con, in his opinion.

Luckily, karma was somewhat merciful and thus, a few pros appeared. The most important being his soulmate.

After his confrontation with General Mustang (namely, telling the bastard to get his shit together) weeks ago, Ed was waking up to less hangovers-by-proxy. He did get the occasional headache and a round of nausea, though. However, Edward wasn’t sure if Mustang was truly doing anything to improve his side of the situation, or if it was due to not seeing his drunkard of a soulmate after such a long period of time. A part of him believed that the relief came from the former, but it was most likely the latter; he wasn’t going to give Mustang the benefit of the doubt all things considered. The idea pissed him off. But there was nothing he could do about it, so Elric decided it was, for both their sakes, best to maintain their distance long enough to lessen their bond and hopefully regain the normalcy they had earned throughout the years.

In the back of his mind, Ed _knew_ that the next time they saw each other, he wouldn’t be able to stop whatever came next, nor would he be able to prevent their connection from coming back full force and kicking both their asses. On the bright side, the fractured bond would sever the chances of their thoughts of feelings from being relayed from one to the other. Edward did hope that Mustang telepathically heard his desire to creatively murder him in response to the short jokes that no longer applied to him before Elric told the old man to take a hike.

Another perk involved Roy’s night terrors. Ed suffered fewer nights where he shot up from his bed in a panic, his heart thundering in his chest and sweat clinging to his cold skin. The times where he screamed himself awake—which brought Alphonse hurrying to his side and begging him to tell him what was happening—were now far and few in-between. Edward was well aware that although it was a relief for him, it was still a horrifying burden to Roy, and he couldn’t help the need to find a way to put an end to it.

Edward silenced that acknowledgement because less was indeed more, and he refused to allow his little brother to endure the consequences for his stupidity—picking up that damn pen.

Sighing, the blond opened his eyes and blinked against the sunlight filtering in from the window. He turned his attention to an another downside to his world’s most recent development: the newest addition to the Elric Family was his fault. Everyone knew it. That fact was apparent to the demon curled up in his lap, too.

Julie the Cat Elric, daughter of Alphonse Elric and a pain in the ass to Edward Elric.

Julie completely ignored Alphonse in favor of Ed. The furball followed him everywhere, nipping at his heels and tripping him with swipes against his shins. The orange tabby slept on his stomach—and occasionally his face, leaving him to wake up with fur in his mouth—and chewed on the ends of his hair.

There was also the bone-chilling rivalry that existed between them. Ironically, Edward had lost _that_ game as soon as Al entered the front door of their apartment with Julie wrapped in his arms. It was unacceptable to his pride. He tried to put his foot down, but when his snot of a little brother tossed Winry the kicked puppy dog look, Edward caved on the matter after a swift whack to his forehead. After the pained and whimpered ‘yes’ flew through his lips, Alphonse practically phased through the ceiling, leaving a trail of sparkles and hearts in his wake; Winry hadn’t been too far behind him, which was weird according to Ed.

The memory of Julie’s arrival brought a hand to Elric’s forehead and he absently rubbed the abused spot. He scowled at the lingering soreness. The same hand travelled south where it settled on his chin. He cracked his jaw from side to side as he reminisced about the time when he stepped on a red yarn ball and fell forward, landing face first into a bowl of milk. To make his agonizing demise worse, Julie had trotted over and licked the disgusting liquid from his face. He had been bested by a cat, and she never let him forget it.

Elric gently dropped his hand to her back and ran it along her spine, raking his fingers through her orange fur. He listened to her purr while she relaxed in his lap, resting like the spoiled brat that she was. At least the sound was comforting.

The blond had turned to scratching behind Julie’s ears when the door to his bedroom flew open, banging against the walls. Ed’s head whipped toward the commotion while the cat shot up from her spot, her claws digging into his pants, scraping along his skin where blood was undoubtedly dotting. Ed bit back a hiss of pain, but mentally bitched Julie out as she yanked her claws away from his legs.

“Al, what’s wro—“

“Brother!” exclaimed Alphonse, scurrying into the room in a panic, his eyes wild and face ashen. “Have you seen Julie?”

Rolling his eyes, the older—and in Ed’s rightful opinion, taller—Elric gestured to his lap. “She’s right here, so quit it.”

Shoulders relaxing, Al exhaled a exasperated sigh and a relieved smile lit up his face, whose pale skin was returning to its usually tan complexion.

“Oh, thank goodness! I was so worried,” Alphonse said. He walked toward the other two, his arms outstretched; Julie readily hopped into his embrace. Edward had to suppress the judgemental scrunch of his nose at the scene.

“About what?”

Alphonse nuzzled his cheek against the top of the tabby’s head, his eyes peeking from beneath his golden lashes. “I thought she stowed away in Winry’s suitcase when she left for Rush Valley.”

Edward swung his legs over the windowsill ledge, then patted on the free spot. When his sibling sat, he twisted to the side and asked, “Is there a sale on the tools that might as well be lethal weapons?”

“Don’t be rude, brother,” chided Al. “Paninya called her the other day and invited her over.”

“When the hell did that happen?”

Al cocked an eyebrow. “While you were moping around and locked in here like the dramatic princess you are.”

And Alphonse thought he was rude.

“I’m not moping,” mumbled Ed, letting out a petulant huff and crossing his arms. “You’re moping.”

A click of the younger Elric’s tongue was followed a retort, “Yes, you are. And I wish you’d tell me why. You promised you wouldn’t keep things from me anymore.”

Ed ran his fingers through his bangs, pushing them from his forehead. “It’s nothin’, Al.”

“Hmm...we both know that’s not true,” challenged Alphonse, “but I’ll find out eventually—I always do. So until then…” He put Julie on the floor and watched her trot out of the room, most likely in search of food. His golden eyes flicked to his brother.

“Hungry?”

Ed scoffed through a smile. “I’m always hungry as hell, Al.”

The younger Elric shot him a pointed look, and Edward grimaced at the familiar words—and tone.

“Language, Edward!”

“Ya know, Al…” began the elder blond, “you’re soundin’ more and more like Winry.” Ed let his arms fall, his palms slapping against his thighs. He lifted a skeptical brow and asked with a sly grin, “What’ve you guys been _doing_ when I’m workin’?”

“Don’t change the subject, brother!” Alphonse shot back, his cheeks blossoming with color. “If you’d like to talk about what you’ve been _doing_ while _avoiding_ General Mustang, we can talk then.” He got up from his spot on the windowsill and regarded Ed with a glare that almost made him shrink against the window.

“I may not know what’s going on with you, Ed, but I know it started when we saw the General on the street that night.” Alphonse paused, tapping his finger against his chin. “He didn’t break your heart, did he? Because I’ll beat him up for you!”

“Where did that come from?” Edward snapped, blustering his way through the warmth dusting the tips of his ears (and sidestepping the question). “And it’s wrong to hit super old people. When the hell did you get so violent?

A pondering look flashed across Al’s face and he squinted, and to Ed’s relief, appeared to have dropped the argument. “I’m not sure actually. Maybe after we left Granny’s?” He shrugged. “Plus you’ve been driving me crazy with all your moping and stubborn attitude.”

“Like I said: you’re seriously starting to sound like Winry. It’s kinda creepy.”

Alphonse scowled. “Well, I can understand why she basically beat your soul out of your body that one day!”

Edward got to his feet. “I think _you’re_ the one who’s hungry, Al. So before ya pull a Winry and knock some sense into me—I have plenty of that shit by the way—let’s go get some food.”

* * *

Ed stared at the small square plate sitting in front him, its contents bright and colorful, and quite frankly, not his style. He regretted letting Alphonse choose the lunch spot.

“What is this stuff?” he asked with a slight grimace twitching at the corner of his lips while he poked at the food on his plate.

Alphonse paused with his hand mid-air, his fork inches away from his mouth. “It’s called lettuce. And in case you didn’t know, it’s a vegetable.”

 _“Eww!”_ Edward playfully stuck out his tongue, his face scrunching with a visible _yuck_ expression. “And it’s green.”

A soft laugh escaped Alphonse. “Just eat it. You’ve had vegetables plenty of times.” He paused to take a bite of his salad, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing and adding, “Plus they help you grow, so eat up!”

His response came in the form of lettuce leaves smacking him in the forehead. He watched them fall to his plate, then glanced up at his sibling from beneath his lashes. Alphonse cocked a brow at the red warming Edward’s cheeks and the steam hissing out of his ears; he wondered if the others in the cafe could hear the whistling over the chatter of fellow patrons.

“How kind of you, brother,” Al commented.

Ed let out a huff of air from the corner of his mouth, blowing a lock of golden hair from his forehead. He slumped back in his seat and crossed his arms. “Yeah, well, that’s what you get.”

The it-wasn’t-his-best-comeback-but-what-could-he-do-about-it was overrun by the low growling in his stomach. Ed shamelessly sniffed the air and picked up the scent of their food wafting toward them.

“Den wouldn’t appreciate your terrible impression of a dog,” said Alphonse.

Rather than reply, Ed’s golden eyes sparkled and widened, his pupils dilating as their server approached their table with a large tray in hand. He practically yanked his plate from the server’s grip, earning him a disapproving scowl from Alphonse. Edward paid no mind to his sibling, choosing to shovel his lunch into his mouth at record speeds.

“Ed, you need to slow down,” warned Al. He covertly glanced from side to side, watching for any onlookers who may be interested in his brother’s enthusiasm. They were in the clear.

Through a mouth full of food, Ed mumbled, “It’s good!”

“I know!” came his hissed response. “But you weren’t raised by a pack of wild animals, brother.”

Edward swallowed, them flashed a toothy grin. “Winry!” he sang.

Ears dusting a light pink, Alphonse picked up his own fork and began eating, inwardly cursing polite words with gusto. On the opposite side of the small cafe table, his sibling had resumed eating without heeding Al’s warning, taking bite after bite, and most likely not tasting a thing.

Suddenly, Edward choked on his food and gagged. Goosebumps rippled across his skin and the hairs on his arms stood on end. The emotions poured into him and flooded his veins, searing his nerves, drowning him in what he strived so hard to avoid.

Roy Mustang’s presence collided into him like a freight train—powerful, overwhelming, and sickening. Ed could taste the desire, the need for the smooth burn that would cascade down his throat if he were to tip the glass back and swallow what it had to offer. Edward’s head began to swim with the muffled crackle of squealing and laughter of a voice long gone and buried, staticky with the echoes of a conversation and the guilt it brought along with it.

“Brother!”

Shaking his head, Edward blinked away the stars bursting behind his eyes and gazed ahead, meeting the worried—and horrified—expression writ across Alphonse’s face.

“Sorry, Al,” he rasped. Ed reached for his glass of water and brought it to his mouth, swallowing the beverage with a gulp before placing it back on the table.

“What happened?”

“Nothin’. I just realized I forgot those scary ass knives that are totally awesome Winry made for me,” Ed lied. “I think we should go so I can hook ‘em up to my automail.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out whatever cenz he had and tossed them onto the table.

Edward sprang to his feet and turned around. Paying no mind to the others around him, he took a step forward and bashed into another person. Hands immediately wrapped around his shoulders, steadying him. The firm touch was soothing and comforting and fulfilling—everything Elric didn’t know he needed until Mustang’s fingers gripped his arms. It was confusing and out of his control. Therefore, Ed loathed the voice screaming inside of his head, telling him that no matter how far he ran, the Red String of Fate would never rip.

The glimmer in Roy’s gaze when Edward stared into them told him that the man knew it, too.

“Fullmetal,” said Mustang, his voice deep and barely above a murmur.

An image flashed before Ed’s eyes. His lips tugged into a frown. He swallowed thickly, then muttered, “You’re what—about fifteen minutes late?” When Roy nodded, Ed gently shrugged out of his embrace. “Stop making them wait and hurry your old ass over there. Try not to break a leg on your way.”

Roy let out a quiet laugh. “As charming as ever, Fullmetal.” Raising a hand, he gestured toward a table at the far end of the restaurant. “Would you care to join us?”

“Nah, me and Al just ate,” replied Ed, “but we’ll be tracking down Mrs. Hughes for some apple pie pretty soon.”

“Tell Elicia we said ‘hi’.” Glancing over his shoulder, he beckoned Alphonse with a forward swish of his hand and mouthed, “Let’s get out of here.”

Without another word, Ed sidestepped Roy and proceeded to weave between the tables in the direction of the nearest exit. Above the noise of utensils hitting plates and random chit-chat, he still managed to hear Alphonse’s hasty, “Goodbye, General,” before his sibling caught up with him. As soon as they walked outside, Al grabbed his arm, whirling around until they were face-to-face.

“What in the world just happened?”

“Um…”

“Cut it out, Ed,” chided Alphonse. “Seconds before the General showed up, you looked like you saw some sort of ghost!”

“I was having a horror flashback about the gross vegetables you made me eat.”

“Hah. Hah,” Al hummed. “Anyway, _how_ did you know that General Mustang was fifteen minutes late meeting Elicia and Mrs. Hughes?”

Ed shrugged a shoulder. “I dunno, but I’m amazing, so…”

“What does being amazing have anything to do about you being a mind-reader?”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Ed began to stroll down the sidewalk with Al on his heels, skipping over the puddles left behind by the rain. He turned his head to the side and spoke over his shoulder, “Even if I could do that in all my awesomeness, there’s probably nothing goin’ on in his head anyway.”

“Well, it seemed like something was happening while you and the General were staring each other down.”

“We were _not_ staring at each other,” Ed drawled lazily. “There’s nothing to see even if we were.”

“Maybe if you’d stop being so stubborn and opened your eyes, you’d see it.”

* * *

With his elbow on his wooden desk, Roy cradled his forehead in the palm of one hand while the fingers of the other drummed against the cup of coffee resting next to the pile of paperwork scattered before him. His gaze flicked from one page to the next, searching for anything that stood out in regard to the child deaths plaguing his every waking moment.

Mustang let out a sigh, and without glancing up, asked, “Have Fuery and Breda confirmed that they’ve arrived in Ishval yet?”

“No, sir,” answered Hawkeye. “As soon as Fuery sets up the communication station, we’ll have their initial check in and follow up reports.”

Exhaling a ragged breath through his nose, the General ran his fingers through his black hair, pushing it from his forehead as he leaned back in his chair; it creaked and slid along the floor beneath his weight. Roy reached for his cup of coffee and took a small sip (which scalded his tongue), then spoke over its rim.

“They have the pictures of the children?”

“Yes, sir. And if they happen to match any children who may be missing from Ishval, Fuery and Breda will let us know,” the Lieutenant said. “Be patient, sir.”

Roy rested his head back and brought a hand to his temple, rubbing small circles against it with the tips of his fingers as he groaned, “It’s hard to be patient when children are dying right beneath my nose, Hawkeye.”

“I know, sir.”

Eyes trained on the ceiling, the Flame Alchemist dropped his arm, letting the palm of his hand slap on top of the chair’s armrest; the impact left a faint sting in its wake, cold and resonating in his bones.

The soft sound of footsteps approaching him caught Roy’s ear. He tilted his chin downward until he was greeted by Riza’s brown eyes; they were stern, solid, yet gentle. He cocked a brow at the woman.

“Everyone left a few hours ago,” she stated. “Are you hungry?”

Roy’s lips quirked into a tired lopsided smile. “How would Fuery feel about you asking me out on a date?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, sir,” Hawkeye countered. Without regard to her commanding officer, she picked up the case papers and began filing them into the folders settled on Roy’s desk. Once she was finished, Riza picked them up and cradled them against her chest. The Lieutenant shot the man a pointed look.

“The cafe down the street is still open. Go home and get some rest, sir.”

Sighing, the General relented, pushing back his chair before standing. He smoothed down his military uniform, then held his hand to his head in a salute. “Yes, ma’am!”

Riza offered her own salute, and after a goodbye that was more like a threat to Roy, she made her way toward the door, opening it and exiting the room.

* * *

Shrugging on his coat, Edward toed on his shoes. Just as he placed his hand on the doorknob in an attempt to sneak out of the apartment, the sound of Alphonse’s curious voice stomped on his hasty retreat.

“Where are you going?”

Ed turned around, flashing a bright (and definitely not suspicious) grin. “Uh...hey, Al, just goin’ for a walk.”

The younger blond quirked a brow. “So late at night?”

“Yup,” Ed chirped with a nod. “Need to get some fresh air.”

A consenting shrug that was most likely meant to pacify him was Ed’s response. But the glimmer in Al’s eyes conveyed to him that he’d get a stern talking to when he returned. For what, Edward told himself he wasn’t so sure.

“I’ll leave the door unlocked for you,” said Alphonse. He stepped sideways toward the kitchen, but paused with his foot mid-air. He glanced at Ed with a gentle—which was sneaky in Edward’s opinion—smile.

“Can you stop by the store and pick up some milk?” he asked. “I want to make the pudding you love so much tomorrow morning.”

“Sure thi—wait, what?!” Ed shrieked, swiveling around to face the other head on. “Milk fucking goes in there!”

Alphonse batted his lashes sweetly with a sly smirk, and Edward couldn’t figure out what he’d done to deserve such a horridly cruel fate nor did he understand where his little brother’s attitude was coming from. Elric made a mental note to seek vengeance for the betrayal.

“Language, Edward Elric!” scolded Alphonse, his tone, once again, relaying the eerie melodic notes trademarked by Winry Rockbell. “What exactly did you think goes in the pudding?”

“Well...I dunno,” the elder blond mumbled. “I thought since, ya know, we _were_ brothers and all that it’d be love or somethin’.”

With an amused huff and a roll of his eyes, Al waved and continued into the kitchen, calling as he walked, “Don’t stay out too late!”

Edward tossed his sibling’s retreating form the dirtiest look he could muster, then spun on his heel and exited their apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft click. He made his way out of the building, skipping down the front steps and onto the sidewalk. Ed strolled down the street with his hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers. With one foot in front of the other, he let his mind wander and his stride lead him to wherever he may go in the unusually scarce area of Central. Ed paid the oddity no mind.

Lost in his thoughts, the blond bypassed whatever pedestrian was out and about, walking the length of one block to another before turning a random bend. Ed came to a halt in front of an alley, nearly tripping forward when he came face-to-face with Roy Mustang. He inwardly cursed whichever gods were listening for his luck.

“Fullmetal,” said Roy.

Considering the onslaught of surprise filtering in through their bond as well as the responding nervous energy he was emanating, Ed managed to keep his cool. He was well aware that Mustang knew differently, though.

Elric pulled a hand from his pocket. “In case you haven’t noticed yet,” he began, gesturing to himself from head to toe, “it’s Ed.” His eyebrows shot to his hairline, his smile smug as he shifted his weight to one foot, kicking up stray bits of broken concrete as he did so.

“Unless you finally need glasses, _old_ _man_.”

“Ah,” hummed Roy, his mouth curling into a lopsided smile. “I apologize for disappointing you, Fullmetal”—Edward scowled at the taunt—“but glasses would be of no use if one were to take a peek inside of my black book and see the wonderful art and poetry you left behind.”

“Both were pretty awesome, huh?”

“Fortunately, you and I have contradicting tastes as to what, in your words, constitutes as ‘pretty awesome’.”

“It’s not like you need whatever the hell is in that book, anyway,” Ed huffed, glaring into the General’s dark eyes.

Roy’s smile widened in response, and he tilted his head to the side, regarding Elric with a look that told him he wouldn’t appreciate what was to come.

“Pray, tell, why wouldn’t I need the names and numbers that _were_ legible before you stuck your nose in it?” asked Roy.

A few heartbeat passed during their staring contest, and when he was fed up with the showdown, Ed jabbed a furious finger in Roy’s direction, his reply snapped, and quite frankly, pissed off and borderline ass-kicking.

“I _literally_ know what you’re thinking, you bastard, and the answer is: you’re crazy.”

Mustang brought his hand to his chin, rubbing it in thought. “If I didn’t know any better, I would surmise that you’ve felt differently for…” He paused, concentrating for a moment before continuing, “Well, I believe for a few years now, if I’ve detected correctly.”

“Don’t.”

“In fact, you recently had an argument with Alphonse about it.”

Hands fisting at his sides and jaw clenching, Edward stalked toward the General, dust and debri billowing up from each stride taken. A hair’s breadth away, he stopped in front of the man, a sneer washing over his face and his cheeks heating.

“If you wanna play this game,” Ed spoke slowly, his voice low and tone challenging, “we’ll play: the Colonel has been talking your ear off ever since you saw Elicia and Mrs. Hughes. It’s kinda hard to do, but I could probably tell you what he’s been saying if you give me a sec.”

“Enlighten me,” Roy drawled.

A loud shatter of glass followed by the sounds of disturbed crates and startled shrieks of cats drew Edward’s attention and his head whipped to the side. He stared into the far end of the dimly lit alley. When another noise echoing the previous racket met his ears, Elric abandoned the General in favor of his ever present curiosity. A hand curling around his arm stopped him. Edward glared at Roy, who wasn’t looking at him at all; the man was peering over his head into the alley, his brow furrowed in a way that reminded Ed of the things he strived to forget.

“What is it?”

The blond’s response came in the form of Roy’s grip tightening around his bicep, the older man’s nails digging into his skin. A few moments later, Mustang finally turned his gaze on Ed; alarm bells rang in his mind, forcing him to take a step away from the other.

“I believe it’s time to go, Edward,” Roy murmured, his hand dropping from Elric’s arm. When Ed made no effort to move, Roy added, “I would appreciate it, if for once, you listened to one of my orders.”

Elric opened his mouth to snap a reply, but a little giggle and voice interrupted him; it was joyous and heartbroken, haunting in its familiarity. Without a backward glance, Ed shot down the alley, hurdling over broken bottles and small boxes scattered about. He heard Mustang trailing closely behind. Both men came to an abrupt stop when they laid eyes on a large alchemy circle drawn on the ground, glowing blue beneath the pale street lamp.

In the middle of the circle were two little girls, smiling brightly: their hair was akin to snow, their eyes scarlet, and their tan skin smooth, reflecting the light like a porcelain doll. The first child, who was smaller than the other, had her long hair braided into plaits on each side of her head; the second girl’s tresses were held up in a single ponytail—a noticeable difference from the short pigtails she donned when she was younger.

One staggered forward, her movements rigid and jerky as if she were a puppet whose feet dragged with every step she took. Once she made it to the outermost ring of the alchemy circle, she stopped. As she stood there, Edward took in her arms and legs: the right was of a different length and build, while the latter left was of the same make. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words were heard as her lips moved. Edward heard the sound resonating in his head, regardless.

_“Little big brother.”_

The voice sent chills rushing down Edward’s spine and goosebumps rippling across his skin; blood rushed in his ears while his heart thundered in his chest; bile burned the back of his throat. Ed’s jaw dropped, the sound escaping him a combination of a squeak and a sob.

“N-Nina?” he stuttered.

She tilted her head to the side, smiling shyly. The simple action drew Ed’s attention to her forehead where letters were etched into her skin—Fullmetal Alchemist.

_“Would you like to play, little big brother?”_

Before Elric could answer, the second little girl spoke, and he knew she was addressing Mustang. He pried his eyes away from Nina and whirled around, taking in the man’s clenched fists and form stiff with tension; sweat beaded his furrowed brow, his skin shallow and ashen. And when she came to a halt at the edge of the circle, Ed saw Roy’s jaw snap closed, his teeth grinding so hard his pulse visibly thumped in his neck.

_“Uncle Roy!”_

Swallowing thickly and body trembling from head to toe, Edward turned his focus to the children standing before him: one from the past and the other in the present. To his horror, Nina reached out, her hand offered for him to take; through their connection, he could see Elicia—whose own forehead was carved with the title Flame Alchemist—parroting the action in Roy’s eye. But unlike Mustang, who stood rooted to the spot, Elric licked his lips, then proceeded to approach both girls.

Just as the tips of his fingers brushed against Nina’s, a snap sounded behind him, the sharp noise loud and furious. Nina and Elicia immediately burst into flames. Edward watched terrified, horrified at the flailing bodies trapped within the alchemy circle, their mouths open in silent words; their cries of pain and eerie pleas were hushed whispers shouting in every crevice of his mind.

Suddenly, a firm arm wrapped around his waist and yanked him backward, practically dragging him away from the flames scorching the cement and brick walls that made up the alley. The street lamp emanating whatever light it held cracked and shattered, its own fire blowing away in the wind created by the inferno.

They kept going, Mustang tugging a struggling Edward away from the area, until they made it to the barren street. Immediately after Roy steadied him on his feet, Elric pulled his arm back and whipped it forward, connecting his clenched and white-knuckled fist with Roy’s jaw; he stumbled under the force.

Edward saw the man’s ignition gloves nestled over his hands and instantly saw red. “What the _fuck_ is _wrong_ with you?!” he screamed, his voice cracking, resonating inside their empty surroundings.

“It wasn’t real, Fullmetal,” replied Roy. He grabbed his chin between his forefinger and thumb, cracking his jaw from side to side. “ _They_ weren’t real.”

Ed threw his arms in the air, his expression hysterical as he fired back, “Nina and Elicia were right there, you bastard!”

“If you take a moment to calm down—“

“Calm down?!” hissed Elric, baring his teeth in a snarl. “How the hell can I do that— _you_ do that—after what just happened?”

“If you would get ahold of yourself,” Roy began, stomping toward the blond, “you would’ve seen—“

He was stopped by a palm warning him to stay away. Mustang’s dark eyes connected with Ed’s, which were watery and blown wide in fear. His soulmate didn’t say a word, but Roy understood perfectly by the blitz of emotions and thoughts rushing through his veins and overwhelming his mind, body, and soul.

In answer, Roy nodded, then watched Edward’s retreating form dart down the road without so much as a backward glance at the man he left behind. After he disappeared around the bend, a soft query was spoken:

“Why?”

“I had to,” Roy insisted through gritted teeth, his head bowed to the ground and eyes screwed shut. “I thought you’d be able to see the reason behind my actions.”

“You can tell yourself that, Roy,” Hughes replied, “but you didn’t have to sacrifice what looked to be my Elicia in front of Ed.”

“As I’ve already said: the children were not real. Nina was a victim to a cruel fate inflicted by her deranged father. And Elicia—“

“Is alive and with her mother,” finished Hughes. Roy’s head snapped up and he was greeted with green eyes glistening behind their frames.

“Tell me, Roy: how did Elicia end up in that alleyway? If the girls weren’t real, whatever put them there had to get their resources somehow.”

At Hughes’ question, Roy spun around, searching for a nearby phone booth; he set off for the one down the street two blocks away. Once he was there, he wrenched open the red-framed door, subconsciously wincing at its screeching hinges. Walking into the booth, Mustang picked up the telephone receiver and dialed.

The conversation was swift: the General dispatching Havoc to the Hughes’ home while Hawkeye would be joining him at his current location.

Although it felt like an eternity since he made the call, Roy watched as a black vehicle sped down the street, braking at the curbside. Hawkeye hopped out the car after turning it off, rounding it until she was a footstep away from Roy.

Neither spoke as the General led the Lieutenant through the alley. He dimly registered that the broken lamp was repaired, its light shining more brightly than it originally had. Their shadows stretched along the walls as they walked, dancing in a way that put Roy on high alert. And when they finally made it to the location, his body’s warning sent adrenaline seeping through his veins and cold sweat dripping down his back, clinging to his white military shirt while his fingers twitched inside his gloves.

General Roy Mustang wasn’t a man to be afraid or cowed or threatened, but upon discovering that the bodies of what posed to be Nina and Elicia had disappeared and were replaced with words painted across the wall within a second alchemy circle, he couldn’t prevent the trickle of fear from settling in his bones.

 _Dear Fullmetal,_  
_This is what it is to die,_  
_I hope you had a nice goodbye._  
_Did you ever think as a hearse goes by,_  
_That you may be the next to die, Roy Mustang?*_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The message on the wall comes from a variation of the “Hearse Song” (also known as “The Worms Crawl In”). It was a popular children’s lullaby during WWI. The origin is unknown. The variation chosen here is one sang by Harley Poe.


End file.
